


Slice of Life

by caswell



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Autistic Jeremy Heere, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Gen, It depends on the chapter, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 22,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caswell/pseuds/caswell
Summary: A collection of BMC ficlets based on Tumblr prompts! Originally posted on my Tumblr.





	1. "Is that my shirt?"

"Is that my shirt?”

“I dunno, is it?” Michael replies as he taps idly at his phone. Jeremy, who, having been stricken by restlessness, is currently rifling through Michael’s dresser, gives him a flat look.

“‘I dunno, is it?’“ he mocks as he pulls out a cream-colored sweater that’s very much his size and not Michael’s. “Have you been, like, hoarding my clothes, duder?”

Michael looks up now, and his chill facade is broken a little. “…Noooo.” (He’s not a very good liar when it comes to Jeremy.)

Jeremy’s not mad, though, even if it doesn’t get across in his tone. He tosses the sweater at Michael, beaning him in the head, and pokes at another shirt he recognizes as his own. “That’s kinda cute, Michael. Creepy, but kinda cute.”

Michael pulls the sweater off his head and lets it fall into his lap in a heap, then looks back down at his phone. “Cute how? You just kinda left ‘em here, so I kept them.” 

Jeremy hums as he grabs one of Michael’s shirts from the dresser. “Fine, then. I’m gonna keep one of your shirts.” Michael’s big enough so that Jeremy can wear his shirts like a baggy pajama top- well, it’s less that Michael’s big and more that Jeremy is a twig- so he pulls it on over his own. It’s just a simple graphic tee, black with a Poké Ball on the chest, but it’s soft and it smells like Michael: faintly of potato chips. But, like, good potato chips. Y’know, the sour cream and onion ones. Those potato chips.

Michael looks up from his phone for good now, and his grip on it loosens as he sees Jeremy standing there, clad in one of his favorite tees, the sleeves falling low on his hands so that only his fingers poke out, a snide little grin on his face… “C’mere, Jer,” he beckons, and Jeremy flops down next to him on the bed, leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder.

As Michael runs his fingers gently, tenderly, slowly through Jeremy’s hair, Jeremy asks, “Whatcha up to?” His breath is warm against the side of Michael’s face, and his lips grace his cheek for a moment.

Michael freezes, lovestruck, for a second before he chuckles and answers, “Not much. Kinda got myself into a rabbit hole learning about albinism in tigers.”

Jeremy hums in acknowledgement and closes his eyes, rubbing at the soft cotton of his- Well, Michael’s- shirt with one thumb and forefinger, and lies quietly. In a moment, Michael snakes his arm around Jeremy’s waist and holds him there.

There’s silence for a while before Michael says, “Feel free to borrow my clothes anytime. They look better on you anyway.” He gets no response, though; Jeremy’s already fast asleep. 


	2. "Just pretend to be my date."

“Just pretend to be my date.”

“What?” Jeremy says, taken aback. “Okay, that’s still… different, though. Like, I want a  _real_ date to prom.” He sighs, defeated, and leans back into his beanbag, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. “C’mon, man, it’s senior year, my last shot, and girls still don’t even  _look_ at me.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, my friend,” Michael jokes, and claps him on the shoulder. “Anyway, you act like I’d be a terrible date. I’m fully capable of, like, picking you up at your place, taking you out to dinner… oh, and I’m certainly a better dancer than half the girls at our school.”

Jeremy sighs, conceding that point to Michael. “Well, still, that’s just… that’s still going stag. Like, going with you would be fun and all, but we did that last year. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, but it’d be nice to bring a little romance in.” He shrugs. “Hey, you could bring a date too. You’re popular with the guys, right?”

“I guess?” Michael says. “A couple guys have flirted with me, but uh. Not really my type.” He looks up at Jeremy for a second, then averts his eyes. “We don’t have to go stag, though, y’know.”

“Well, at the rate I’m going, we do,” Jeremy grumbles, crossing his arms with a pout.

Michael puts his head in his hands and sighs. “Oh, my whole entire God, Jeremy Heere.” His voice is an odd cross between frustrated and amused that Jeremy hears from him approximately five times a day. “Look,” he says, picking his head up and looking at Jeremy, “I  _meant,_ the two of us don’t have to go stag  _together._ I’m asking you to prom, Jer.”

Jeremy makes a shocked noise that sounds a little like a strangled cat and whips to the side to face Michael. “What- you’re kidding me, right, Micha? Just joking?” 

“Jeremy-” Michael takes a deep breath, steeling himself- “I want to go to prom with you. I… never really wanted to pretend.”

“Well, jeez, you know I’m dumb as bricks, Michael!” Jeremy protests. “Be upfront about it!” After his short outburst of frustration, though, he thinks for a second. “I mean, like, it wouldn’t be  _bad,_ I think?” 

Michael snorts at that. “Wow, Jer, you flatter me.” He pauses. “You do realize what  _actually taking me as a date_ means, though, right?”

Jeremy curls up on his beanbag as he muses. “Um… I think there’s more kissing, right? Oh my God, wait-” his eyes widen- “do we have to, y’know, have-”

“No!” Michael nearly shouts, and claps his hand over Jeremy’s mouth before bursting into laughter. “No, Jeremy, we don’t have to fuck, cool it. I mean, unless you want.”

“Look, Michael, I’ve seen you shirtless before, and…” Jeremy pauses. “Okay, actually, I was gonna insult you, but I’m chill with that, I guess.”

“Jeez, ya fuckin’ horndog,” Michael laughs, then, a fond smile remaining on his face, says, “Thanks. For… letting me take you. And sorry about the shitty promposal.”

“Oh noooo,” Jeremy groans, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes again. “The promposal… that’s essential!”

Michael wriggles around, adjusting himself so he can rest his legs on Jeremy’s lap. “Don’t worry about it so much,” he says, one of his most used phrases around that particular ball of anxiety and awkwardness. “Look, if it’ll make you happy, I’ll come up with a way cool formal promposal.”

“You’d do that for me?” Jeremy says, and goes a little red at the thought. “…Actually, I think that might be kinda cool. But nothing too drastic, okay? I don’t really need that kind of attention…”

“Oh, and here I was planning on spraypainting “go to prom with me” on the side of the school,” Michael says, and is promptly swatted in the arm. “Oh, you know I’m kidding, Jer. Trust me, it’s gonna be perfect.”

Jeremy is quiet for a second, looking a little nervous, before he says, “I don’t want perfect, I want you.”

Michael whistles, a smirk written across his (quite handsome) features. “Wow, with flirting skills like that, I wonder why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh- oh, shut up!”

“You know you love me.”

“…Maybe just a little.”


	3. "No strings attached?"

“…No strings attached?”

“No strings attached,” Michael agrees. That’s a lie. Of course it’s a lie. Because Michael’s stupid and shitty and a liar and he already has feelings for Jeremy, but Jeremy doesn’t need to know that, so it’s not bad, is it? Oh, hell, nothing about this is bad, he realizes as Jeremy’s lips meet his.

It happened like this: Jeremy, as per always, got frustrated. _“I’m seventeen and I still haven’t had my first kiss,”_ he’d complained, letting his legs fall down onto the mattress as he laid on his stomach on Michael’s bed. _“I mean, unless you count that one where you got dared to in freshman year…”_

He’d never say it, but that’s one of Michael’s favorite memories. He thinks about it from time to time, trying to remember the way Jeremy’s hesitant lips felt on his, the way his perpetually-cold hand shook as he placed it on his cheek. _“Why not me again, then?”_ he’d said. _“I mean, not to brag, but I’ve kissed one of the most popular guys in school and he dug it.”_

_“Wh- what popular guy did you kiss? Why don’t I know about this!?”_

_“Starts with R, ends with I. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, like- if you’re really looking for someone to kiss… like if you’re desperate…”_   Michael braced himself. Oh, he’s fully aware that what he’s doing is idiotic, he really is, but he can’t go back now. _“I mean, we could both get our fix. Y’know.”_

 _“...No strings attached?”_ Jeremy’d asked.

 _“No strings attached.”_ And Jeremy had kissed him, and that’s where they are now.

His hands are shaking just the same way, but he’s deeper with the kiss, moving on from the hesitant 14 year old peck on the lips to the 17 year old real actual kiss, and it wrecks Michael because he knows this doesn’t mean a thing, that Jeremy’s just desperate, but if he closes his eyes and if he clears his brain and if he really pretends then maybe it can seem real. And then, then, then there’s teeth brushing against his bottom lip and all he can do is think, God, where’d you learn that? Because Jeremy shouldn’t be that good, he should be chomping down and having to apologize for hurting him because he’s a huge awkward dumbass, but that felt good, and Michael didn’t know this would feel so good.

“Michael,” Jeremy says, low and breathy, when he pulls away for a moment, and Michael hates him for it for a second. “Please tell me I’ve improved.”

“I’ll tell you if you kiss me again,” Michael says, and his voice is nearly inaudible. He doesn’t know how he got this brave. He’s a confident person, sure, but Jeremy has always been his weak spot, his _I’ll never ever ever tell him,_ his _I’ll take this to my grave._

And Jeremy does; he kisses him, and this kid did his research, that’s for damn sure, because his wobbly hands find Michael’s hips and grip them, and then he’s almost- Michael wracks his brain for a word- massaging them, Jesus entire Christ. Michael realizes he’s kinda lacking in his efforts, still starstruck at the touch, and his hands grace Jeremy’s cheeks now. He runs his thumbs against his cheekbones, stopping only when Jeremy takes a moment, breathes, asks, “Well, have I?”

“You have, God, you have,” Michael says, and he could cry, because Jeremy isn’t his, but this kiss is, the feeling of his lips on his own is, and that’s all he can hope for right now, mark the time, 2:02 A.M. Eastern, and “Do it again,” he says, because he’s greedy, and “Again,” he says, because he wants, and Jeremy gives it to him, and “Again, again, again.”

No strings attached, but he’s still a puppet.


	4. "Wait a minute, you're jealous!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UHHhhh yeah i know that wasn't Jeremy's quote verbatim but I kinda... worked with it? As if it was? shrugs.

_"Wait a minute, you’re jealous!”_

_“Maybe I got lucky, is that so weird?”_

_“Why would I want that?”  
_

_“Move it.”  
_

_“Get out of my way… loser.”  
_

Michael licks his lips, once and then again, unsure of what to say. The first confrontation, that living Hell of a night, as Jeremy stared him down in Jake Dillinger’s bathroom, he had something planned out, that monologue that he never got to say before he was thrown into one of the worst panic attacks of his life. Now, though, after all’s said and done and the school is saved and Jeremy’s talking to him again… he has nothing to say. “…It hurt,” Michael finally settles on, raising his eyes to meet Jeremy’s.

“I know,” is all Jeremy says. “I know.”

An empty classroom, light streaming in through the window. They arrive at 3:10. Michael opens his mouth at 3:20. He’s lost. What can he say? What can he even say that will communicate his feelings? In the deep, dark part of his brain, he wants to thrust Jeremy into his place, into that bathroom, sitting in the tub and crying and puking into the toilet and glancing at the medicine cabinet and listening to the throb, the ebb and flow of the music that beats at the door as everyone but him has the time of their lives. But that’s not who he is. He doesn’t want Jeremy to suffer, he just wants him to know how he feels.

“I’ve thought about it, and… I know it’s my fault, partly,” Michael continues, eventually. “Because I shouldn’t have depended on you so much. I was… being stupid. I was being a teen.”  _I was being in love._ He decides not to say that part. “So I can take responsibility for that.”

Jeremy stays silent. That’s good. Maybe he’s learned to listen. Michael doesn’t think about why, exactly, he’s learned that. 

“But it hurt. I was trying to help my best friend even after… even after he abandoned me for people he never even used to like. I mean, for real? Brooke Lohst?”

“She’s nicer than she seems,” Jeremy says, subdued. Michael ignores him.

“I tried to help you,” Michael repeats, and his gaze falls to the dusty floor again. “And all I got was a door slammed in my face. All I got was my best friend of 12 years, the person I planned on spending my golden years with, calling me a loser and just leaving me there.” Jeremy stares. “It felt like the world was ending.”

When Michael’s been quiet for a few moments, Jeremy speaks up. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to believe that I had it in me to do that, but. …Guess I did.”

“Guess so,” Michael echoes. He doesn’t know what to think. He wants desperately to accept Jeremy’s apology, to say that everything is okay and get on with their lives, to have that source of warmth and happiness in his life again, but it doesn’t feel like enough. He thought that hearing that would be enough, but it’s  _not._ What could even be good enough?

Jeremy takes a deep breath, and Michael looks up from the floor to see him taking a neatly folded paper from the side pocket of his backpack. “I, um… I actually. Wrote this. A while back,” he mumbles. “Telling you how I feel. Because whenever I open my mouth, nothing worthwhile comes out, nothing that can… reach what I feel. But I can write.”

Michael takes the paper from Jeremy and unfolds it. He recognizes Jeremy’s scrawling hand as easily as he would his own, and it covers the whole page and half the back in long, thin pen marks- the boy could never write anything small. There’s scribbles where he’s crossed things out, black boxes covering mistakes, things he couldn’t let Michael see-  _Why?_ he wonders, clenching the paper a little tighter in his fingers- and… a blur, a circle turned blue at the outside, a tear stain? Jesus. He’d been crying. Michael doesn’t know how to feel about that, about the picture that forms in his head of Jeremy sitting at his desk, writing and crossing out and writing again his feelings, his thoughts, his regrets and guilt, and sitting there crying in what, sadness? Anxiety? Self-pity? The cruel thing that lies in the deep, dark place in him says  _It must be self-pity. Why would he cry over you?_ Michael tries to push it away. He reads the paper, finally.

_~~Dear~~  Michael,_

_I don’t know how to say this. I’ve been thinking about this every day since I woke up. I don’t think you’ll ever know how much it means that you came to the play, that you saved my ass, that you were at the hospital every day watching over me even though I did you so wrong. And I’d try to make an excuse here, but I’m tired of doing that. Because I’ve realized what’s important lately._

_The whole reason I wanted to be popular was because I wanted more friends. I wanted to fit in. Yeah, there was the thing with Christine, too, but she liked me better when my SQUIP was off in the first place, and before I had it. And I really like my new friends, I do. They’re great. But I always had friends- one friend, at least. And you’re better than the lot of them._

_You probably think a lot worse of me after this whole thing. I understand, honest to G-d I do, and if you start to hate me I don’t think I’d blame you. But I’ve come to realize that  █  █ █ █ █  █ █ █ you’re probably the best person I could have been friends with. Maybe the best person I’ve ever known. So there’s that. For what it’s worth, that’s what I think of you._

_Even if you’re a loser, you’re a good person, and I realize now that it was probably me holding you down all along. Because when I see a guy like you, who’s confident, who doesn’t care what people think of him, who’s fine with who he is and who loves to have fun and who always walks with ~~swagger in his gait~~  a skip in his step, I see someone who’s just like the popular students. (I mean that in a good way.) They’re the same way that you are. They do what makes them happy, and they’re confident, and they know how to navigate the world in a way that makes sense and is safe and good and fun, and you do, too. I think I have a lot more to thank you for than just saving our collective ass._

_I’m really sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t say it at first, but I really am sorry for everything I put you through. I really hope you can forgive me ~~, and I never had the guts to say it but~~  but if you dont, that’s okay too. Thanks for reading this, if you do._

_\- Jeremy_

“You even signed your name in cursive,” Michael notes, trying to take everything in. He’s a good person. He could be better. More important. He’s appreciated? That’s a first. “…I don’t know what to say.”

“Look, I understand,” Jeremy says, turning away, “and if I should go, just-”

“Don’t go,” Michael commands, a bit rougher than he’d intended, but it gets Jeremy to look at him. Quieter this time, he repeats, “Don’t go. I…” Here it is. Moment of truth. Does he forgive Jeremy? He doesn’t even know if he does. He thinks he does. “I… was… wondering what you ‘never had the guts to say’.” Well, that wasn’t what he expected to say, but it sure is what comes out. 

Jeremy is silent, back ramrod-straight, looking like every part of him is electrified. Like he’s on the edge of  _some_ thing, like he’s a bomb about to explode, like someone about to jump headfirst into freezing water like they had at camp the summer before sophomore year. “You don’t want to know,” he says, the tempo of his voice speeding up, like how he does when he gets nervous, a mad dash for the point where he doesn’t have to talk anymore.

“I do,” Michael insists.

“Fine! Fine, okay, fine,” Jeremy says, sounding as if he’s yelling, but Michael recognizes that particular tone as stress, fear, anxiety. “Fine, Michael, okay, I love you, now do you forgive me or not, because if it’s over it’s over and I just want to get out of here if it is-”

“You love me?” Michael asks, breaking Jeremy’s flow of self-pity.

“Yes, I love you!” And Jeremy’s stepping closer now, even though his voice sounds like he wants to run, why’s he coming closer?

Michael swallows sharply. “Why didn’t you say so? And- and if you love me, why did you hurt me so bad?”

“Because I was stupid and confused and there was too much in me and in my head and i didn’t know how to exist when I thought about those things, and so I lashed out, and it wasn’t just that, I don’t mean to say I was cruel out of love because that’s horrible, but I don’t know how to deal with it.” Jeremy takes a deep breath, takes a seat, lets the world slow down.

Michael made up his mind not to apologize today. So he doesn’t. What he  _does_ say is, “…What are we supposed to do?”

“Well, how do you feel?” Jeremy asks. “I don’t know if you love me, I don’t know if you even forgive me. I just want things to be normal.”

“Of course I love you, Jeremy,” Michael says, almost frustrated at this point. “It wouldn’t have hurt half as bad if I didn’t. And I…” He tries to make up his mind. His heart already knows what it wants, but if he doesn’t use his brain, he’ll get hurt again, he knows it. and yet- “I forgive you. Okay? I forgive you.”

“You forgive me?”

“I do,” Michael says, and sits at the desk in front of Jeremy, turning around to face him. “And I don’t know what to do next, but this is a start.”

Bridges are burned quick and rebuilt slow. He knows that. But Michael thinks maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance things could be alright from now on. He loves, and he’s loved. That’s all he needs. He tells himself that that’s all he needs.

He’s going to be okay.


	5. "I can't sleep."

"I can’t sleep.” **  
**

Brooke’s voice is hushed over the receiver, melancholy, and Michael swears she sounds like she has the weight of all the world on her shoulders. It’s 1:30 A.M., and he’d gotten the phone call out of nowhere- if it hadn’t been Brooke (or, of course, Jeremy) he’d have declined it immediately and just texted them to go to sleep. For his friend, though, he’ll make an exception. He shifts into a sitting position, leaning against the wall his bed is pushed up to. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, you know,” Brooke sighs. “I just… can’t do it. You get this way too, don’t you?” ‘This way’- insomnious, depressed, lonely, confused. He does.

“Yeah, I get it,” Michael says, and crosses his legs. “Are you… going to be alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah.” Brooke is silent for a few moments, before continuing, “How do you deal with it on the hard nights?”

That’s a good question. Michael doesn’t really like talking about it. The thing about him is that he’s gotten pretty good over the years at pushing things aside, boxing them up, putting them in little bottles and sending them out to sea. He doesn’t talk about depression or anxiety or… anything. Only Jeremy and Brooke know, and that’s  because they feel the same way. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I think I… kind of just sit there and get through the day, y’know? Only 24 hours in each one.”

“Huh.” Brooke doesn’t sound satisfied. Why would she? “…I think I want to get help. I don’t want to have to ask you these things anymore.”

“Get help,” Michael echoes. “…Like, counselling? You want to see a therapist?”

Another pause. Then, “Yeah. I wanna see a therapist.” She sighs again, out of relief, now, not frustration. “I know it’s not the only thing about you, or even the biggest thing about you, but knowing someone else who struggles with this is… really healing. I always felt so alone.”

“You don’t have to be,” Michael says, and it’s a promise. “I think, if that’s what you want… then you should do it.”

“I just don’t know how to talk to anyone about it,” Brooke says, dejection creeping into her voice again. “I’d have to tell my parents, and who knows how well they’d take it? I mean, they’re part of the problem. Everyone’s parents are… that’s what I think.”

Michael thinks on that for a moment. Sure, he loves his moms dearly, and family is right up there in the most important things to him, but sometimes they can be overbearing, too pressuring. “Yeah, Brooke, you’re definitely right on that one. …Maybe you could see a school counselor.”

“Maybe I should,” Brooke agrees. “Wait, that’s actually an awesome idea. I could schedule the appointments all by myself.” The smile is audible in her voice as she says, “Thank you so much, Michael!”

Michael smiles to match Brooke’s, closing his tired eyes. “Yeah, no problem, Brooke. You think you can sleep now?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Brooke says, and yawns. “Okay, yeah, I can probably sleep. G'night, Michael. …Thanks for talking to me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Michael says, and means it completely. “Sleep well, okay?”

“You too,” Brooke replies, and hangs up. The phone beeps in Michael’s ear for a second before he closes out of the phone app and sets it aside. He didn’t think he was tired, but there’s something about Brooke that’s comforting, lulling him to sleep. He thinks it might be her voice. So, he lays down and pulls his blanket over himself, curling up into them. _Goodnight_ , Michael thinks, to nobody in particular, and he’s out within five minutes.


	6. "We're out of gas."

"We’re out of gas.”

Jake glances down at the fuel gauge, then back up to the dirt road that stretches in front of him. “Aw, I’m sure we’ve got at least a couple more miles,” he says, with little confidence.

“Well, that’s still unfortunate,” Jeremy says, leaning in a little to look closer himself, “because there’s no gas stations for, like, five miles.”

Jake frowns down again at the fuel gauge, making sure to look up every couple seconds. “…D’you think I should pull over?”

“Yeah, probably,” Jeremy answers, voice starting to pitch up with nerves. 

Jake doesn’t end up having much of a choice; the car starts to sputter, then fall into a slow roll- he barely gets it onto the shoulder of the road before it comes to a stop, out of commission for the time being. “…This is a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation,” he grumbles eventually.

“I’m sorry, I probably should’ve told you earlier that there aren’t any gas stations or anything in this stretch of road, it’s just that my dad usually drives me there and he’s a lot more experienced so he always remembers to fill the tank, and…” Jeremy pauses. “Did you just quote Brokeback Mountain? That’s kinda gay.”

Jake snorts in amusement. “Okay, first of all, don’t worry about it. It’s my fault for not stopping for gas when we were still near the city. Secondly, I mean, I’m a guy who’s dating a guy, so… yeah, I’m a little gay.”

“Oh, but only a little,” Jeremy teases, smiling for a moment. His grin disappears, though, when he remembers the situation they’re in. “…Should we walk?”

“What, all the way to your grandparents’?” Jake asks, raising his eyebrows.

“…To the nearest gas station, Jake,” Jeremy says flatly.

“Oh. Right.”

Jeremy unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car. He basks in the sun for a moment before realizing that, if he’s going to be walking in this kind of weather, he’s going to be sunburned to hell and back when they’re finally able to get going again. Jake, of course, will just get a nice tan and be even more handsome, because that’s just the kind of person he is. If he were anyone else but Jeremy’s boyfriend, he would be hit with jealousy at the thought, but-

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Jake asks, seemingly appearing out of thin air.

Jeremy jumps. “Wh- oh! Oh. Uh, nothing.” He looks up at the sun, narrowing his eyes. Then, he looks to his left. Also the sun. “…You.”

Jake chuckles that low chuckle that’s reserved for Jeremy, and a jolt goes through him, a warmth that shoots from his stomach up into his heart, and, ah, now he’s blushing, because he’s young and dumb and in love. Whatever, it’s whatever. “C’mon, Jer,” he says, and claps a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

“We sure do,” Jeremy replies, and, when Jake takes his hand, he knows that he would bear a thousand sunburns for this boy. 

He just knows.


	7. "If you love it so much, why don't you marry it?"

"If you love it so much, why don’t you marry it?”

If it were another time in their lives, there would be malice in Michael’s voice. No… not malice, more like a righteous anger- Michael never had an ounce of cruelty in him, which is one of the various things that Jeremy's told him that he admires about him. But his words now, years after the fact, are cheery, teasing, watching with amusement as Jeremy hugs a box to his chest: blue, with a picture of a coveted Nintendo Switch on it.

“Cuz I’m gonna marry you,” Jeremy says, offhand, then continues, “But for real! It’s finally here! Dude, the Switch!” He hops onto his bed, then practically tears at the box, picking at the plastic seals with dull fingernails.

Michael puts a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder to halt him, and Jeremy looks up, cocking his head. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says. “You’re gonna marry me?”

“Uh,  _yeah,”_ Jeremy says, making shaky eye contact with Michael for a second before continuing to disassemble the cardboard and plastic.

“Well, don’t just say it like that, Jeremy!” Michael laughs, and taps him again; Jeremy sets the box in his lap and keeps his eyes obediently on Michael this time. “Dude, that’s the worst proposal I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m not- I’m not  _proposing,”_ Jeremy protests, tapping at the box with slender fingers. “I’m just… y’know, I’m just sayin’. We’re gonna get married someday, right?” His confidence is starting to waver; Michael can hear it it in his voice.

The answer that comes instantly to Michael’s head is  _yes, stupid._ He thinks about it all the time, because he’s a sappy idiot and a notoriously useless gay, so, yeah, he really was hoping it would happen someday, but. To have concrete proof, to hear Jeremy say that he wants it too, well. That’s a lot to handle. He realizes eventually that he hasn’t answered and blurts, “I mean- yeah, Jer, of  _course.”_

Jeremy smiles a dumb, toothy grin, relief settling in his features. “Good! I thought for a second that I might be, like, overstepping my boundaries or something.”

“Hell no!” Michael says, and beams to match Jeremy. “We’re gonna be super cool husbands one day, that’s fuckin’  _awesome.”_

“Aw, yeah, it is!” Jeremy gives Michael a high five, then presses a quick kiss to his cheek before finally going back to the Switch box. “But in the meantime, it’s time for Super fuckin’ Mario, baby!”


	8. "Are you still mad at me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank youuuu to tumblr user seasaltvamp for help with the prompt!!!!

“Are you still mad at me?”

Jeremy blinks in confusion, pausing for a second before he continues to trail his tired fingers in circles on Michael’s cotton pajama top. “Mad at you for what?” he asks.

“The other day? The picture?” Michael says. His fingers stop carding through Jeremy’s hair, resting hesitantly in place. “You were freaked.”

Oh. Right.

Jeremy’s always had a  _thing_ about being embarrassed. Mix anxiety and autism and sprinkle in years of bullying and he’s just a perfect recipe for shame, hypervigilant of his own appearance and mannerisms, bordering on paranoid sometimes. It was worse in middle school, when every waking moment was consumed with thoughts of  _are my clothes dirty, do I have something on my face, do I smell bad, are they talking about me-_ but even now, in his senior year in high school, he can barely deal with the feeling, even if there’s no reason for it to be there.

He hadn’t expected it to ever be a problem with Michael, because, well, Michael knows him better than anyone else, but maybe it’s just never something that came up. And Michael, of course, needs views on his precious Instagram account, and cat pictures get old after a while. So, y’know, why not post a picture of his boyfriend after he’d slipped and fallen in mud?

Yeah, okay, looking back on it, Jeremy can admit it was sorta funny, but sitting there in the wet grass seething at the gunk that was sure to stain one of his favorite shirts, and knowing he had to continue the walk home with every passerby gawking at him in his miserable state- that fucking sucked. In his distress, he haven’t even noticed that Michael had snapped a picture until he happened to check his Instagram that evening.

There was anger, then, but mostly shame- except the thing is, too many of Jeremy’s emotions come across as anger. Embarrassment? Anger. Hurt? Anger. Sometimes even his apathy can come across as anger. It’s something in his tone, probably, but he’ll be damned if he’s been able to figure it out so far. Jeremy hadn’t exactly been mad, but he was embarrassed to hell and back, and certainly hurt. “Dude, did you really post a picture of me on your IG?” he’d asked, thrusting his phone in Michael’s face as they sat on his bed. 

“Uh, yeah, why?” Michael said, raising his eyebrows. “What’s the deal? People love it.”

“Mi _chael!”_ Jeremy snapped. “What the hell, man? That was, like, super embarrassing! I can’t believe you did that.”

Michael frowned. “Well. I? Uh. I mean, I can take it down, if you want.”

“Well, yeah!” Jeremy’d said. “Why did you post it in the first place?”

Michael thought on that for a second. “Uh. I dunno. I thought it was funny, I guess.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Jeremy said with a scowl. “Just take it off, would ya?”

And Michael had, but it was still a tense rest of the night, because, okay, yeah, it was minor, it wasn’t like people were  _judging_ Jeremy for falling on his ass, because everyone does that, like, it’s just  _mud,_ but the fact that he couldn’t trust his boyfriend to not expose the fact that yes, he does embarrassing things sometimes, just made him gloomy.

But he was over it by the next morning, because that’s just how the two of them are. No grudges over anything that isn’t The Most Serious Thing, which there’s only been one of in their history, really. So why was Michael so worried?

“Why’re you so worried?” he asks, as he rests his head on Michael’s chest, watching the minutes tick away on the alarm clock on the night stand.

“You seemed pretty mad, y’know?” Michael says. His fingers rub gentle circles into Jeremy’s scalp, trying to relax him, although Jeremy’s not even angry at the moment.

“I mean, yeah,” Jeremy says, “but that was days ago. It’s okay, Micha.” He pauses. “...Did I really seem that mad? I didn’t mean to. Were you worrying about that all this time?”

“Only a little,” Michael says. Jeremy sighs, relieved- he didn’t want Michael to worry about, well, anything, especially about i he was angry with him. Jeremy’s anger never really sticks around long if it’s there in the first place.

Jeremy sits up and runs a hand through his hair, looking soberly at Michael. “I’m not... I’d forgotten about it, Michael. For real, it’s okay.” He sighs. “I should have apologized for getting so defensive in the first place. I was just embarrassed, y’know? But I wasn’t really  _mad_ at you.”

Michael scratches the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “So I was worried over nothing, huh?”

“Yeah, dude.” Jeremy leans in and kisses Michael’s cheek, careful, tender. “For real, if I have a problem, I’ll say so. Pinkie promise.” He holds up a hooked little finger.

Michael hooks it with his and shakes his hand, embarrassed smile turning into a genuine, loving one. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he says, and snorts. “Ignore me.”

“Nah, man, it’s okay.” Jeremy kisses him again, on the lips this time, then whispers, “I love you. Don’t worry.”

Michael smiles, and there’s sincerity in his voice when he says, “I love you too, and I won’t. Now c’mere, snuggle. I’m tired.”

Jeremy obliges, of course he does, and he’s back in Michael’s arms in an instant, held closer now, fingers in his dark hair. “G’night, Michael,” he says, voice hushed. “Go to sleep.” But it’s Jeremy who falls asleep first, as always.


	9. "But your mom hates me!"

"But your mom hates me!”

Christine sighs. It’s true; Mrs. Canigula is somewhat critical of Christine’s friends. She loves Jeremy and Michael, but her more popular friends don’t particularly impress her. “Well… maybe this would let her get to know you more? I mean, no offense, Jen, but I could kinda… see why someone might not like you from just your first impression…”

Jenna shrugs, conceding that point to Christine. “So... how am I supposed to clear my name, then? I know us popular kids are usually kinda shitty, but, like… I can be a sweetheart.”

“Of course you can,” Christine says, and kisses Jenna quickly on the cheek. They’re relaxing on Jenna’s bed, pressed close, Jenna’s arm around her as they lie there; the only light is from a purple-pink lava lamp that Christine has always adored. “So just… show her that. Show her the real Jenna. Y’know, the nice, protective, tender Jenna.”

“So what, I can pull your chair out for you and stuff?” Jenna jokes, but Christine nods. 

“That might make a difference,” she says, “especially because I’m a few months older than you… respect for your elders, y’know? Even the smallest difference could be important.”

“Well, alright,” Jenna says, and tucks a piece of hair behind Christine’s ear that had fallen onto her face. “…What else?”

“Ummm…” Christine thinks on that for a little. “Well, you liked being in the play, right? Talk about that!” Not the autumn play, of course- after the debacle with the SQUIPs, there was a fairly unanimous agreement to join the cast of the spring play as well, much to Christine’s delight. The bar was pretty low, but it really was objectively awesome.

Jenna grins at the memory. “It  _was_ pretty great. Oh, my God, when Michael accidentally knocked over that table of props…”

Christine bursts into giggles, remembering Michael’s sheepish smile as Mr. Reyes chewed him out like he never had before. Sure, she’d been stressed to death at the time, but all eight of them were able to laugh about it after all was said and done. “Tell her about that! Tell her about… the things you like.”

Jenna hums as she thinks, closing her eyes. “Well… I like music. Y’know, old 80s bops. I like when colors go well together, like pink and purple, or blue and white. I like big cats and small dogs. I like rom-coms, and Eddie Murphy.”

The happiness in her voice, the pure contentedness, brings a gentle smile to Christine’s face. 

“Hey, Christine?” Jenna asks.

“Yeah?” Christine says, opening one eye.

“You know what I really love?”

Christine’s smile breaks into a grin. “What d’you love, Jenna?”

“You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small shout-out to translesbianjd for helping me think of things Michael could've fucked up as a stagehand ;v; I appreciate it ...


	10. "I'll never leave you again."

“I’ll never leave you again.”

The promise is whispered as they lay in bed, eyes half-lidded, legs entwined for warmth under Jeremy’s blanket, the blue floral one he inherited from his grandmother. The events of junior year are far behind them, in their relationship and in time itself- it’s winter break of their freshman year of college now; Jeremy remembers a time where he could hardly conceptualize it- but it’s still something he makes sure to say now and then. Just for good measure.

Michael used to respond with  _“Are you sure?”._ In the beginning, it was bitter. Once the bitterness wore off into the rawest, most basic feelings, it was a plea for the truth. After a while, the words started to taste stale, a useless question when all the proof was right in front of him. The words would turn to static in his mouth, until one day he said, _“I know.”_

It was _“I know.”_ for a long while. Jeremy’s heart felt unshackled for the first time in a long time, if only for a moment, when he heard it. Maybe things could go back to normal. Not like before, never like before, because now he’s stuck with trauma and regret and a computer chip still implanted at the place where his pons Varolii turns into his medulla oblongata, but maybe something like normal. 

He didn’t stop then. Of course he didn’t. It was something he  _wanted_ to say, something that calmed him down, something that he said when he didn’t know what else he could possibly find the words for. It was Michael, again, who found them first.

After  _“I know.”_  comes  _“I love you.”_  It comes after a moment of silent thought, a moment of Jeremy’s thumb brushing against his cheekbone, a moment of his heart thudding against his ribcage so hard he swears they’re going to splinter into a thousand pieces. The words turn into a kiss, and then to an embrace, and then, well. You know how it goes. It’s an age-old story.

Michael finds Jeremy’s hand underneath the blanket, and Jeremy’s heart stutters in his chest. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over that touch, how it’s the softest thing he’s ever felt. 

“I love you,” Michael says. Another promise.

“I love you, too.”


	11. "You haven't touched your food, are you alright?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI uhh this has sort of a tw for disordered eating but it's bc of medication loss of appetite stuff not bc of body image so! better.

"You haven’t touched your food, are you alright?”

The pizza box lays open between the two of them, a medium Veggie Lover’s from Pizza Hut, and it’s true- much of the right half has been devoured, but at Jeremy’s side, it’s barely nibbled at. “Oh,” Jeremy says simply. “I guess you’re right.”

Michael places the slice of pizza he was eating back in the box and frowns. “Jer, you literally never eat this little. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, y’know.” Jeremy shrugs. “Just not feelin’ it today.”

Michael pushes the pizza box aside and scoots closer to Jeremy. “You can’t just not eat because you’re ‘not feelin’ it’, dude,” he says. “And normally I’d just steal some from your half, but you’re kinda worrying me.”

Jeremy sighs and glances away, picking at the old, faded carpet with one fingernail. “It’s my meds, alright? They mess up my appetite.”

Right. The medicine. After finally opening up to to his father about the breakdowns he’d been having for years, the nights that where a flip switched in his brain and suddenly it seemed that the world had claws and fangs and was about to chew him up and spit it out again and he would cry and cry and cry because there was nothing else he could do… he was  _finally_ seeing a psychologist, and, subsequently, a psychiatrist. Michael had been delighted for him at the time, because that was progress, and that kid really should have started seeing someone earlier, but Jeremy was ashamed, as it made him  _weak_ or something. It didn’t, obviously, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of otherness when he thought about all his shiny happy peers who didn’t have to pop pills to not want to kill themselves.

“You said you didn’t want medication to be the boss of you,” Michael says, “but here you are, letting it make you not eat.”

“…I guess,” Jeremy mutters. “I dunno. You can eat my half if you want.”

Michael scoffs,  mock offended. “I know I’m kinda chubby, but I’m not gonna eat a whole ass pizza, man.” After a pause, he puts a hand on Jeremy’s hand and starts to rub slow circles into it. “You feeling bad about it again?”

“A little,” Jeremy says. “And then that feeds into it, y’know? Like I feel bad about having to take meds, so I don’t eat, but also my meds make me not want to eat. And then like, I’m still depressed, so why am I even taking the meds? But if I was even more depressed like I would be off my meds, I still… wouldn’t have an appetite.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Michael says, making sure there’s no pity in his voice- he knows that Jeremy hates to be talked down to, even if it’s accidental. “You can’t just like… not eat, though. Like I said. You’re gonna get hungry at like 2am and wake me up and make me get you some Cheez-Its.”

“That happened  _once,”_ Jeremy protests.

“And I still resent you for it. Anyway, eat or I’ll fight you, I guess,” Michael says. “I’m more the motivational pep talk guy, not the motivational ‘hey, do this thing that you literally need to do to survive’ guy.”

Jeremy chuckles at the thought. “Dude, you could never fight me. You’d hit me too hard on accident in, like, the spleen or something and then get all guilty. You couldn’t handle the emotional trauma of it all.”

Michael takes a breath and is about to refute Jeremy’s claim, but eventually just says, “…Okay, maybe so. But I’m fully willing to stuff this pizza down your throat if you don’t-”

“Kinky.”

“Die then,” Michael says, and shrugs, feigning apathy. 

Jeremy laughs, full-blown now and not just a chuckle, and grabs the pizza box. “Alright, fine, fine.” Before he grabs a slice, though, he glances back to Michael and says, “…And thanks for lookin’ out for me.”

“I mean, you’re my best friend,” Michael says, “I’m not just gonna let you starve to death because of your dipshit chemical imbalances.” When Jeremy fixes him with a look that says  _gimme a break, I’m being sincere, here,_ he adds, “…You’re welcome, Jer.”


	12. "Are you drunk? Oh, my God, you're drunk."

“Are you drunk? Oh, my God, you’re drunk.”

Jeremy takes another swig from his red Solo cup and glares at Jake. “I’m not- I’m not  _drunk,”_ he says. “I’ve only had, like, a cup of this stuff. Don’t be lame, Jakey.”

“A cup of plain rum? What the fuck, Jeremy?” Jake asks, and snatches the cup from him. “How do you even drink like that? You know that was for the piña coladas, right? Like, you’re not supposed to drink that straight.”

“Oh.” Jeremy pauses. “…No wonder it tasted so bad.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “C’mon, dude. I’ll take you up to my parents’ room and give you some peace and quiet, okay? You should get outta here.” 

The party pulses and throbs around them, Jake’s words barely audible above the sound of shouting students and the bouncing tempo of 80′s music that blasts from the speakers. Jeremy flinches at the noise, then says, “God, okay, fine. Tell Mike I’ll be down, uh, sometime. I’ll text him or some shit, I dunno…”

“No problem,” Jake says, and takes Jeremy by the hand. “C’mon.” He pulls Jeremy up, and, in a testament to his inebriated state, Jeremy immediately stumbles and nearly falls on his dumb baby face. “Whoa there,” Jake says, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “D’you need to hold my hand?”

Jeremy’s cheeks are already red from the alcohol, but he blushes deeper now. “Uh, yeah, that’d be, um, totally… yeah, cool,” he stammers, and Jake snorts in amusement as he reaches out and takes his hand.

It turns out that just holding his hand really isn’t enough for Jeremy. The guy’s a lightweight; he can barely walk now, though he can talk pretty well, at least. Jake almost suspects that he’s exaggerating his state just a little bit. In any case, before they reach the landing of the stairs, Jake’s got his arm wrapped around Jeremy’s waist, and Jeremy’s got his arm slung over Jake’s shoulder. “Don’t trip,” Jake warns him as they take the first step up on the stairs. “The stairs are sort of steep.”

“I’ll be fiiiine,” Jeremy promises, and he does make it up… sort of alright, although he nearly does trip and bring himself and Jake to an untimely doom. He’s clinging on tight to Jake, warm against his side, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of his tee.

Jake’s parents’ room is at the end of  the hall, but they finally make it; by some stroke of luck, nobody’s in there making out or crying or anything, so Jake leads Jeremy in and sits him down on the bed. “You doin’ alright?” he asks, concerned. There’s a part of him that wants to just stay here, take care of him, ignore the party and be with his friend. He tries to push it off, but it’s like a hot fire poker driven into his heart when Jeremy looks up at him with a dumb, goofy smile and half-lidded eyes.

“I’m doin’ just fine,” Jeremy says, and lets himself fall back onto the sheets. “Get in here.”

“…Get in bed with you?” Jake asks, incredulous, and laughs. “Dude, you’re super drunk.”

“Yeah, maybe a little,” Jeremy mumbles, pressing his face into the sheets. “Get in. Cuddle.”

Jake blinks, taken aback. “Oh, you’re a loving drunk, huh.” He sits down at the edge of the bed and looks at Jeremy, then, with one hesitant thumb, brushes the dark hair out of his face. “Get some sleep.”

“Sleep with me,” Jeremy demands, then laughs drowsily. “Not- not like that. But…” He rolls onto his back, spreads his arms wide. “C’mere. Jakey, c’mere.”

Jake decides to humor Jeremy and lays down, letting Jeremy grab him into an awkward embrace. “What’s the deal, duder?” he asks. “Why so cuddly? Are you always like this when you’re drunk?”

“Mm-mm.” Jeremy shakes his head, nuzzles his face into the crook of Jake’s neck. “Only you. Y’know.”

“Me? Why?” Jake thinks he knows the answer, but… he wants to hear it. He wants to hear Jeremy say it.

“‘Cuz I really like you, Jake,” Jeremy mumbles. “You’re handsome. And you smell nice. I like your cologne. So stay.”

Jake breathes a laugh, curls and uncurls a gentle finger in Jeremy’s hair. “Gotta say it when you’re sober or it doesn’t count.”

“No, I mean it, shut up,” Jeremy says. “Kiss me.”

“I can’t kiss you, Jeremy.” Jake’s voice, for once, is stern, no nonsense. “You’re drunk and I’m sober and that’s really, really gross.”

“Then let me stay here until I’m sober again.” Jeremy’s voice is pleading, passionate despite the quiet of it, as if he’s mustering all his energy to ask. “Jake? Let me stay here.”

Jake considers it. It’s not like he could get in trouble or anything; his parents are still fucked off who knows where-  _No, don’t think about that right now, Jake-_ but it’s still, like… so intimate. Except. Maybe he wants that. Intimacy with Jeremy. That’s not weird at all. “You can stay,” he says eventually. “Don’t want your dad to have to worry about your hungover ass.”

Jeremy chuckles lowly, tiredly. “Appreciate it. I’ll tell- I’ll tell you again in the morning. You’re cute. You’re cute, dude, I love it. I love your dumb frosted tips.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Jake says, mock offended. “You’re cute too, Jeremy. Now sleep. I’ve got the party to get back to.”

Jeremy doesn’t protest this time, at least; not only is he a loving drunk, he’s a sleepy drunk, which is better than being a rambunctious drunk, probably. He snuggles closer to Jake, and Jake holds him there, all sharp angles and skinny limbs, until he starts to snore gently. Jake disentangles himself- slowly, so as not to wake him- and sits up, runs a thumb against the sleeping boy’s cheekbone. He sits there for a second, a minute, five; then, content that Jeremy’s getting some sleep, heads for the door. “G’night, bud,” he says, and flips the light switch.


	13. "Oh, my God, you're in love!"

"Oh, my God, you’re in love!”

“I’m  _not_ in love,” Jake protests. “He’s just a friend, alright? You and- you and Michael are the same way.”

Jeremy takes a long slip from his slushie, staring Jake down the entire time before he sets it back in the cup holder. “Yeah, exactly. You’re just like me and Michael. You think I haven’t been pining over that dingus for the past, like, year?”

It’s lunchtime- well, it  _was_ lunchtime; Jeremy’s pretty sure they’re skipping the entirety of fourth hour at this point- and the two of them are just chillin’ in Jake’s car in the parking lot of the 7-11. Going there for lunch- if it could be called that- is usually Michael’s jam, but Jake didn’t have any ideas on where to go get food when he asked Jeremy to go with him, and it was the first place that came to mind. Slushies, chips, and Oreos probably isn’t a balanced lunch, but whatever, it’s what they’re having anyway.

“…Okay, okay, I guess I can see that,” Jake says, and glances away. “Look, I can have strong feelings for my best friend, that doesn’t mean it’s  _romantic.”_

“Tell me what you feel when you see a text from him when you wake up in the morning.” Jeremy fixes him with an expectant look as he crunches on an Oreo.

Jake pauses, thinks on it for a long, long while. “I guess I… I feel warm? Like maybe my day will be good if the first thing I see is something he said. Even if it’s just him sending a shitty dark Kermit meme. And I guess… relief that he’s still there.”

Jeremy nods sagely. “You wanna know what I feel when I wake up to a text from Michael?” Without waiting for conformation from Jake, he continues, “I feel like I’m blessed to be waking up to something so good, even if it’s just him saying something cursed. I feel like I’m lucky that he’s stuck around even after I pulled all my dumb shit back in junior year.”

Jake swallows, sharp and painful. His fingers, he realizes, have been tapping at his leg this whole time. “And you love him.”

“That’s what love is, Jake,” Jeremy says. “How do you feel when he hugs you? When he high fives you and your hands touch for just a second?”

“I feel…” He looks down at his lap. He can’t look up at Jeremy. This is so much, nearly  _too_ much. “I feel warm inside. I don’t want it to stop.”

“When he hugs me,” Jeremy says, “it’s more like holding me, because I’m so… scrawny, y’know. And he smells like the slightest hint of cigarettes, even though I know he doesn’t smoke. And when he high fives me, I want to wrap my hand around his, to hold it, to… just keep it there for a second.”

Jake’s voice is small when he repeats, “…And you love him.”

“And I love him,” Jeremy agrees. “And you… you’re in love with Rich, Jake.”

The fight’s gone out of him. He opens his mouth, tries to deny it, but all that comes out is, “…Maybe so.”

“I know how it is.” Jeremy’s tone becomes softer, more sympathetic instead of sly and all-knowing. “It hurts sometimes.”

Only when Jeremy says it does Jake remember how it hurts. He remembers the ache in his chest that only gets worse and worse every time Rich smiles that dumb toothy grin. The desperation that screamed at him from every corner of his brain as he climbed through the wreckage of his burning house. The pain that curls in the pit of his stomach like a cobra ready to strike when he sees Rich wink at the more attractive students of Middle Borough.

“Does it ever get better?” he asks.

“God’s honest truth?” Jake nods. “I’m not sure.” Jeremy takes a deep breath, sighs it out, takes a drink of his slushie. “I’m too much of a coward to take the chance of telling him. But you? Jake, you’re the most popular guy in school.”

“That doesn’t make it easier!” Jake sighs. “It’s not like I don’t get shy sometimes, dude. I mean, the reason I can flirt with all those girls is because… is because we’re not friends. Like, if I had a crush on Brooke Lohst or someone, I’d rather drop dead than ask them out.”

The smile that Jeremy gives him is bitter, resigned. “Guess we’re in the same boat, then, huh?”

“…Guess so.” Jake stares down at his hands again. “Do you want to go back? I think fifth hour starts soon.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “You don’t, either.”

“I know,” Jake says softly. “I know.”


	14. "Let's blow this joint."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one wasn't supposed to be this long but it worked into a little stress reliever ficlet I was working on... so? okay

Jeremy Heere hates a lot of things. He hates being embarrassed. He hates the feel of crushed velvet. He hates chemistry labs. Most of all, though, he hates pep rallies.

They're too damn loud, is the deal. Jeremy can deal with the  _ lean left, lean right  _ bullshit, even though he thinks it's stupid, but the din of chatting students and the teachers who shout to be heard and all the clapping… God, it's painful. Annoying at the very least, and often overstimulating. That's just what he needs-  _ not.  _

The cruel thing about it is that Jeremy lives within walking distance of the school, so if the pep rallies at Middle Borough were at the end of the day, he could just walk home and have a short day. But, since fate is not kind, they're in the middle of the day, meaning that Jeremy's still forced into that packed gym for a hellish forty five minutes every Friday.

Luckily for him, he's best friends with Michael Mell. 

It's nigh impossible to find any one person when the whole damn school is stuffed into one room, and there's no reception, so Jeremy had to go it alone until the third trimester of his junior year, when he and Michael miraculously had third hour together- geometry. A hellish subject, but at least they were able to sit together in class, and,  more importantly, at pep rallies. 

It didn't take long for Michael to notice how uncomfortable Jeremy is. To be fair, Jeremy doesn't hide it well, shaking one hand tensely up and down until his wrist hurts, but still, Michael's always been pretty observant. As they walk to lunch after the third pep rally of the trimester, Michael quietly asks him, “Were you okay back there?”

Trying to avoid the shame of saying no- he was never really comfortable talking about his autism, because in his mind it just made him even more of a loser- Jeremy just asks, “Why, what?”

Michael fixes him with a Meaningful Stare. “Buddy, you already know,” he says, and the concern comes through in his voice. “You were acting hella anxious, and I know shit like that freaks you out.” He taps his forehead. “I’m pretty smart, Jer.”

“Right, right.” Jeremy pauses, looks down at his sneakers. “I dunno. Those things just suck, y’know? I don’t even see the point. It sure as Hell doesn’t make me like this garbage school any more.”

“Yeah, I getcha,” Michael says, and tousles Jeremy’s hair in an attempt to comfort him. Jeremy pouts and smooths it back down again, but he can’t keep back a smile. There’s nobody who’s better at cheering him up than Michael.

 

Another Friday, another damn pep rally. Goddamn, Jeremy hates these things. He sticks close to Michael as the classes spill into each other in the hallway, students pushing past each other with annoyed grunts and talking to their friends in voices that were entirely too loud. Jeremy barely notices he’s holding Michael’s hand until he squeezes it, giving him a disarming smile. “You good?” he asks.

“...No,” Jeremy grumbles eventually. “This is gonna be awful, like it always is.”

Michael frowns, sticks out his tongue a little in thought. He breaks away from the crowd, taking Jeremy with him as he steps aside into the empty senior lounge. “Hey, Jeremy?” he says. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Jeremy pauses. “...What, really?” he asks. “Isn’t that against the rules? They’ll just send us to the gym if they find us in the halls.”

“Well,  _ yeah,”  _ Michael says. “I mean, get out of school completely. We could go to the 7-11 or the roller rink or something. Hell of a lot better than a pep rally.”

The frown on Jeremy’s face flips into a bright grin. “You’re willing to do that with me? That sounds fuckin’ awesome!”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Jeremy, I skip school all the time. You know that, right?”

“Okay,  _ yeah,  _ but still,” Jeremy says. He runs a hand through his hair, then says, “...Well, what’re we waiting for?”

Michael laughs at that, throwing an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders. “Now that’s the spirit!” He takes the opportunity to press a quick kiss to his cheek now that nobody’s paying attention. “C’mon. You can pick the music in the car.”

“You said my music taste sucks,” Jeremy says, though he’s so smiling, as the two of them push through the now-thinning crowd towards the back exit.

Michael shrugs. “I mean, it kinda does, but you’re worth it.”

Jeremy gives him a half-joking, half-sincere sappy look as he says, “Aww, Michael, you sure know how to please a lady.”

At that, Michael smacks him upside the head- gently, of course. “I’ll revoke your aux cord privileges,” he threatens, teasing.

“Oh, how will I ever live?”

“On a 24 hour Tigers Jaw lockdown, obviously.”

 

They don’t end up listening to Tigers Jaw, in the end. Jeremy cranks up the volume of Michael’s car stereo and pulls up 5 Seconds of Summer’s iconic album Sounds Good Feels Good on his phone, to which Michael gives an exaggerated groan. The damn liar- he knows all the words to She’s Kinda Hot and Jeremy knows it. 

Even though jamming out to Good Tunes ™ in Michael’s car is pretty loud, especially since he sings along- and he’s pretty decent at it, he’d like to think; a nice tenor- it’s a  _ good  _ loud, a loud that vibrates in his chest and brightens up his day, to the point where he’s completely forgotten about the pep rally. Michael, despite his jabs at Jeremy’s music taste, is singing along beside him, head tilted back but still surprisingly driving like a pro, and his smile makes Jeremy’s heart trip over itself in his chest. He’s so damn lucky he has him.

They take the long way to the 7-11, driving around the town and singing and waiting out Jeremy’s anxiety for a while before Michael pulls into the parking lot. “C’mon, duder,” he says as he unbuckles himself with a low click. “Snacks are on me as long as you pull me a slushie.”

“Done deal,” Jeremy says. “Cherry or blue raspberry or what?”

Michael shrugs. “Surprise me.”

Jeremy decides on blue raspberry for himself and cherry for Michael, and, in a few minutes, he’s slurping on his own as he and Michael walk through the aisles looking for snacks. It’s unspoken but acknowledged that they’re going to be skipping at  _ least  _ the next few class periods, so he supposes this counts as their lunch. May as well get a balanced mix: Golden Oreos for sweet, White Cheddar Cheez-Its for salty, and beef jerky for savory. Yeah, that’ll do it.

“How do you manage to stay so skinny?” Michael asks, poking Jeremy in the stomach after he glances at the food in his arms. Jeremy swats his hand away and chuckles.

“Dunno, man. Don’t question God.” He shrugs. “You still up for paying?”

“I don’t go back on my word that easy, Heere. Have some faith in me.” As Jeremy dumps his snacks onto the counter by the register, Michael pulls out his card and hands it to the cashier. Jeremy finds his free hand without looking and takes it, gentle fingers threading through his. He grins as Michael stammers through his “Yeah, that’s- that’s everything” and takes a drink from his slushie, giving him a teasing look.

“You’re  _ cute,”  _ Jeremy says, his smile coming through in his voice, as they walk back to Michael’s PT Cruiser. “Gayass, gettin’ all flustered over me holding your hand.”

“Careful, I paid for those snacks, I’ll steal ‘em if I want to.” Michael sticks his tongue out, but Jeremy knows the threat doesn’t hold any weight. “Wanna go to the park?”

“Hell yeah!” Jeremy nods vigorously. It’s always quiet, and pretty secluded; not many people bother to visit anymore when there’s a mall and a roller rink and stuff fairly near there. It’s a good place to go when you want to be alone. Michael’s a good person to be alone with, too.

 

The grass is soft and slightly wet underneath them as Jeremy and Michael sit together on a hill beneath the warm spring sun. Michael stares at the sky. Jeremy, of course, stares at Michael.

“It’s nice out here,” he says simply.

“It is,” Michael agrees.

“Quiet.”

“Mm-hmm.”

They’ve discarded their collective wrappers and slushie cups into the garbage can by the nearby gazebo, so there’s nothing holding them back from just lying there, Michael with his arm around Jeremy and Jeremy snuggled up to Michael’s side as close as he can get. He’s warm, almost too warm combined with the sunshine, but Jeremy’s never minded. Why would he?

“Hey, Michael?” Jeremy says, and Michael looks down at him with a questioning look. “Thanks for taking me out here ‘n stuff… and sorry I’m-”

Michael shakes his head and leans over to cut into Jeremy’s words with a kiss. “You apologize and I’ll take you right back to Middle Borough,” he says. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts,” Michael says, and Jeremy shuts his mouth. “Just chill, alright?”

Jeremy’s silenced by that, not entirely soothed and assured that he’s not a burden, but it’s whatever. It’s all whatever. The only thing that matters is the here and now.

Michael pulls him impossibly closer.

Everything is warm, everything is quiet.


	15. "You did this for me?"

"You did this for me?”

Jake nods, looking away guiltily from the burned pan on the stove. It smells vaguely of meat, but mostly of tar. “I mean… I  _tried,”_ he says.

Rich had come over to Jake’s house under the assumption that they would be ordering a pizza, as per usual, but when he’d used the key hidden beneath the welcome mat to open the door, he was greeted by copious amounts of smoke and a disgusting burning stench. Concerned for Jake’s safety, he’d rushed to find the source of the smoke, but it turns out he didn’t need to be as worried as he’d thought.

“Jake, you  _know_ you suck at cooking,” Rich reminds him, holding back a laugh. 

“Well, yeah, but… you were just talking about how you missed your mom’s beef stroganoff, and I thought maybe I could make it?” Jake looks back up at him with a sheepish expression. “Y’know! To spice things up a little.”

“You can’t even make pasta, Jake.” Rich cracks a smile. “Did you think this through at all?”

“Oh, like you’re the master at thinking things through,” Jake shoots back, and Rich doubles over in laughter.

“Okay, okay, you got me,” he says, and claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Really though, that was- I mean, it was a disaster, but it was sweet of you,” Rich continues, and his smile softens as he meets Jake’s gaze again.

“Really?” Jake asks, and scratches the back of his head. “I mean, I messed it up kinda bad. Guess you can’t be good at everything…”

“Don’t try to be, dude,” Rich says, and, without warning, pulls Jake into a tight bear hug. Rich’s bear hugs are a little painful, but he still gives ‘em, and, to his knowledge, nothing’s gonna stop him. “Thanks, Jakey.”

Jake laughs a low chuckle, breath warm on the crook of Rich’s neck. “Don’t, don’t thank me,” he says, but he can’t keep the relief and love out of his voice. “You wanna just get pizza?”

“That’s what I was planning on,” Rich says, and presses a quick kiss to Jake’s temple. “I’ll pay, though. Keep your money to buy new pans.”

“At least don’t rub it in!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sdgbdfghdfg ive never written richjake before is this Remotely in character...


	16. "You wear glasses?"

Christine pulls out a glasses case from the bottom drawer of Brooke’s night stand. When Christine gets bored, she rummages, and, since she and Brooke are dating, Brooke’s fine with it.

“I mean... I  _wore_ glasses,” Brooke says. “I got contacts the summer before ninth grade. I guess you didn’t go to the same middle school as me, huh?”

Christine shakes her head. “Nah, I went to middle school with Jake and Jer and Michael. Aw, did I miss Brookie in glasses?” She opens the case with a  _thunk_ and lets the glasses fall into her palm. “Oh my gosh, Brooke, these are the  _cutest_ glasses!”

“They’re  _not,”_ Brooke pouts. “They were so clunky and ugly!”

“They’re cute!” Christine says, smile bright as the sun, and sits back down on Brooke’s bed next to her. “C’mere. Brooke, for me?”

Brooke rolls her eyes, but Christine knows her well enough to know that she’s not actually upset when she takes the glasses from her hands, flips her hair out of her face, and slides them on. “There. Do I look good?” she asks, and the slightest bit of a blush lights her face.

“You look adorable,” Christine whispers, and presses a kiss to Brooke’s nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is SO SHORT but i. i can't write for this ship it just doesn't come to me At All. weghdgnfs  
> Hey I mean they *are* drabble prompts...


	17. "Just hold me, please?"

"Just hold me, please?"  
Michael rolls his eyes, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he looks back down at Jeremy. "Will you at least let me get you some orange juice or something? A Jolly Rancher?"  
"That stuff's all fake," Jeremy grumbles- after coughing up some phlegm that was clogging his throat, of course. "What I need is cuddles. Get in here." Too tired to lift the blankets on his bed up to allow room for Michael, he kicks them onto the floor instead.  
Michael flips the corner of the blanket that's landed on one of his feet with the other, then says, "Jeremy, I'm for real, you're never get over this cold if you don't do something about it." At Jeremy's puppy dog eyes, he asks- more forcefully this time- "Can I at least make you some soup? Gimme a break here."  
Jeremy runs a tired, grimy hand through his hair. "I'm too sick to eat," he says.  
"You most definitely are not too sick to eat," Michael says flatly. "You have a cold, not the stomach flu."  
"But my throat hurts!" Jeremy protests. "For real, just... cuddle me. I need to sleep for, like, twelve years."  
Michael sighs, considering the prospect. Sure, he'd love to cuddle with Jeremy under pretty much any other circumstances, but the boy's gross and sick and he wants to take care of him. Plus, if he did get in there under the covers with him, he'd definitely get sick himself. They're both the loving type, so at least one of them would forget they're not supposed to kiss. It's just like that sometimes. They're stupid as shit.   
Eventually, though, he comes to a decision. "Okay, fine. I'll cuddle with you for-" He checks his watch- "fifteen minutes, but after that, I'm gonna get you some Benadryl and you're going to go to sleep and I am going to take a shower so I dont contract all your gross Jeremy germs. Germamies."  
Jeremy snorts, which, in his condition, sounds like a sputtering snot engine. Gross. "Fine, alright. But the fifteen minutes starts now, okay? Snuggletown, population: you. C'mere." He pats the mattress next to him tiredly. "Oh, and bring the blankets."  
"Right, right," Michael says, and grabs the blankets off the floor, laughing as Jeremy grunts at the force of them hitting him directly in the face.  
"I change my mind," he grumbles. "Get out."  
"Nah," Michael says simply, "don't think I will."


	18. "Wait a minute, you're jealous!" - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a companion piece to the third ficlet in this collection, "Wait a minute, you're jealous!"  
> So you should read that first!

Jeremy stares at the piece of paper before him. The clock ticks and tocks, only faintly within earshot, and it wriggles around in his head and scratches at his eardrums until he breathes out a sigh of anger and scratches at the surface of his computer desk with dull fingernails. Why is this like pulling teeth? It's something he needs to do, and it's something he wants to do, and it's something that he's thought over and over again: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, holy shit, I'm sorry.

He has a couple sentences down, at least.  _ Dear Michael, I don’t know how to say this. I’ve been thinking about this every day since I woke up. _ Jeremy sighs again, brings the pen to the paper, crosses out the 'Dear'. Gotta keep it professional.

It feels so stupid to be writing a letter. Like, if he really meant all this, he should be able to say it out loud, right? But it feels too big, too serious, too much for his stammering, awkward tongue. He'd fuck it up and then things would never go back to normal, because... because he always thinks of the worst-case scenario, sure, but it really feels like that. The joys of paranoia.

He should start with a 'thank you'. Jeremy owes Michael his life, or, if not his life, then his state of mind, his autonomy, his individuality. No more shiny, happy hive minds for him. Hesitantly, he pens, _ I don’t think you’ll ever know how much it means that you came to the play, that you saved my ass, that you were at the hospital every day watching over me even though I did you so wrong. And I’d try to make an excuse here, but I’m tired of doing that. Because I’ve realized what’s important lately. _

What  _ is  _ important?

Michael is important. Obviously. He knew it right away when he walked in the hospital room door, looking like he hadn't slept in days, as if Jeremy had stolen his sleep, holding it hostage while he laid comatose on the scratchy bedding.

And Michael... is his friend. Was his best friend. Were they still best friends? Sure, he loves his new, popular friends, but... there just wasn't that connection. And for so long, he was practically his only friend, aside from those friendly acquaintances that he, say, was paired with in class projects or had the locker next to. What's really important to him, Jeremy realizes, the root of the issue and the cause of his problems, is friends. 

The whole reason I wanted to be popular was because I wanted more friends, he writes. I wanted to fit in. Yeah, there was the thing with Christine, too- Jeremy chuckles; it'd lasted for three dates, at which point Christine realized that she really does need more time to figure herself out. Jeremy had been slightly heartbroken, but he'd learned a lot recently, and part of that was how to be more empathetic. He'd let her go. -but she liked me better when my SQUIP was off in the first place, and before I had it. And I really like my new friends, I do. They’re great. But I always had friends- one friend, at least. And you’re better than the lot of them. 

It's true. He is. Well, maybe not better than Christine, they're probably on about the same level, although he hasn't really been in trouble around a Christine that wasn't SQUIPped, but anyway, he was leagues better than the rest of them. Sure, they were all great now, they treated him a lot better, but, Hell, Chloe forced herself on him, Jake called him a freak (which, yes, he does remember even though he was having, like, a seizure or something on the cold linoleum of the Menlo Park Mall), Jenna spread that rumor about him being gay in the ninth grade, Brooke always made that slightly annoyed, slightly disgusted face when he accidentally bumped against her in the hallway instead of that forgiving smile when it was almost anyone else, and, well, Rich had bullied him for a good year before he said a single nice thing to him. Yeah, Michael was the best of them all.

_ You probably think a lot worse of me after this whole thing. I understand, honest to G-d I do, and if you start to hate me I don’t think I’d blame you.  _

Something comes to Jeremy then.

Love.

What is love, really? Jeremy's really not sure if he's ever felt it. He liked Christine. He really, really liked Christine. But that was infatuation, bordering on obsession. Jeremy may be a stupid teenager, but he can acknowledge that that wasn't exactly true love, the love that drives you to get married and stuff. Marrying Christine was a nice idea, and one he'd thought of before, he'll admit, but it's a high school crush he had for, like, half a year at most, since the third trimester of his sophomore year.

So he's felt infatuation, but what about love?

Does he love Michael?

Maybe he loves Michael.

He'd be lying if he hadn't gotten butterflies before. Michael's got a nice laugh, a handsome face, a personality that- Jeremy grimaces at the cheesiness of the thought- makes his heart smile. Okay. Okay. So maybe that wasn't completely platonic. But was that love? Was it like? Was it just his adolescent libido wanting to kiss a little, because he was the closest person in range?

...No. It wasn't. That's the decision that Jeremy makes. He was covering it up- wasn't he covering it up? It wasn't like he wanted to admit that he had feelings for his best friend, who was, y'know, a guy. He'd even had that conversation with himself before: _ "Just because you have weird thoughts about him doesn't mean you're gay or bi or whatever, people have these thoughts and they're like, intrusive or something, you don't actually think he's hot." _ ...By the tenth grade, he'd finally had to admit to himself that he was bi. 

So maybe he loves Michael. Loved? No, definitely loves. Because his chest still gets tight when he looks at him, and he thought maybe that was because he's his best friend who he cares about a lot and he was so so so glad to have him back in his life (even though it was completely his fault that he left) but... look. 

It felt the same as any other crush he'd had. He hesitates to call it a crush anyway: it was deeper than that, because Michael is his real actual friend, someone who means so much to him and that he could genuinely see spending the rest of his life with him.

This wasn't the realization Jeremy wanted to have at, like, one in the morning, but y'know. It happens. What's a better time for it, anyway?

He takes a deep breath, puts his pen to the paper again.

_ But I've come to realize that I love you. _

Jeremy pauses, stares down at the words, cringes hard. He shouldn't tell him yet. Should he? He shouldn't, he can't. It's selfish, it's the wrong time, and, well, he's sort of a coward.

He draws a neat rectangle around each of the eight letters and scribbles them in, blocking out the confession with precision.

█  █ █ █ █  █ █ █ 

_ You’re probably the best person I could have been friends with. _

There.

That's much better.   
  



	19. "Bad day, huh?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Long time, no see. A lot of shit went down, but I'm back in the BMC fandom. You can find me on my new blog, thecicadasong.

From the moment Jeremy drops his messenger bag by the door of their dorm room, Michael can tell something is wrong. “Bad day, huh?” he asks as Jeremy skulks over to his bed, not even glancing at him where he sits typing at his laptop. 

Jeremy doesn’t seem to hear him at first, but eventually he pipes up with, “You know how you said we’d be cool in college?”

“Yeah, because we  _ are,”  _ Michael says, because he is; he’d managed to collect a decent group of like-minded friends despite his social anxiety. “Why, what?”

“We’re not, dude. We’re  _ totally  _ not,” Jeremy says, and flops down on the bed from his sitting position. “Nobody ever listens to me, and I haven’t made a single friend. It’s just the same as high school, except I’m not getting called queer.” He shudders, presumably remembering all the times he’d had his last name used against him.

Michael feels a pang of guilt hit him. He’d been thriving in college; his music theory friends admired his obscure taste in music, and his business friends were relieved to be around somebody who was less uptight than their teachers. It seems that Jeremy hadn’t been having the same experience. “I’m sorry,” he says, not knowing what else to say. “Um, did something happen at your newspaper club thing?”

“It’s called The Rider News,” Jeremy says, “but yeah, like, they never listen to my suggestions. They look for themes for the issues, but then they’re like, no, not  _ that,  _ Jeremy, but my ideas are always good.” He sighs. “And then, in psych, I ask questions because I don’t get the instructions when we do stuff, and everybody looks at me funny.”

“You’re not stupid, if that’s what you were thinking,” Michael says. “You’re one of the smartest guys I know! You just need a little help.”

“Except I’m  _ not  _ smart,” Jeremy protests. “I’m a nobody, even now. I really thought I had something to bring to the table with the newspaper, but I guess not. And it’s not like that would get me any clout anyway, like, who cares about the school newspaper?”

“I do,” Michael says, and gets out of his own bed to sit next to Jeremy on his.

Jeremy leans his head against his shoulder; whether it’s a reflex or not, Michael can’t tell. “Yeah, but you only care about it because I’m a part of it,” he points out.

“Okay, maybe so,” Michael says, “but I’m not the only one.”

“You’re close,” Jeremy mutters. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Michael thinks on it for a moment. He’s gotten good at navigating life, even after the adjustment from high school to college; it’s easier, in fact, since he can choose to spend his time with like-minded people instead of getting shoved into class with people who hate the subject material. “Okay, so here’s what we’re gonna do,” he says. “We’re gonna make you some new friends, first of all. You could meet mine; I promise they don’t talk about business stuff that would bore you  _ too  _ much.” Jeremy had been astounded when Michael picked up that major, but he needed it in order to fulfill his dream of opening a record shop.

“Fine, alright,” Jeremy says, and, despite his glum words, Michael can tell he’s starting to pick up. The boy’s a sucker for a plan.

“And then,” Michael says, “you’re gonna have to get your voice heard. Do you speak up enough at the newspaper? Do you reeeeally push and advocate for yourself?”

“No,” Jeremy admits. “I just sort of let them brush me off.”

“See, there’s your problem. You can’t let yourself be the underdog anymore,” Michael says.

“It’s harder than it looks!” Jeremy says. “I can’t do things like you do. You can push through your social anxiety. I don’t know how to do that.”

“Practice, man. And drugs.”  
“I can’t just smoke pot every time I get anxious, Michael.”

“What? No. I meant anti-anxiety meds,” Michael says. “I’m not  _ that  _ much of a pothead.”

“You totally are, but it’s whatever.” Jeremy stares down at his hands. “Um, I guess I could try. Maybe I just need to put in more effort.”

“Hey, that’s the spirit!” Michael says, a smile crossing his face, and Jeremy mirrors it. “You’re gonna kick ass, dude, I promise.”

“Thanks, man,” Jeremy says, not quite as enthused, but he’s getting there. That’s all Michael can ask for.


	20. “Can I do your hair?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'll do something longer than like 1k words again sometime soon, school's just been running me ragged lately. I'm almost in the clear for this semester, though, so y'know.  
> I also did the BMC Big Bang, so look forward to that fic in February!

Brooke flipped through the pages of the latest copy of Industry, letting her gaze fall on the extravagant outfits and hairdos of people who have no idea who she is. The thought didn’t bother her like it would Chloe, who was dead set on being a fashion designer; instead, she hummed contentedly as she rea. Christine periodically neglected her 3DS and leaned over to look at the pictures. “That’s so neat!” she chirped. “You would look so cute in that.” She pointed to a short blue dress, and Brooke smiled.

“Why, thank you, Christine,” she said. “I thought this sort of stuff bored you.”

“Well… when people get really into it, I stop understanding, and the rules are really stifling,” Christine said. “Like, who decided you can’t wear denim on denim? That’s awful.”

“You make it look good.”

“Thank you, Brookie! But, like, I like looking at nice outfits,” Christine said. “I think anybody can appreciate them.” She paused for a second, looking down at the models’ meticulously styled hair and then back up at Brooke’s. “Hey, can I do your hair?”

“Hm? Um, yeah, go crazy,” Brooke said, “but there’s not much you can do with it… you could tie it up, I guess.”

“We could go to the store and get some hair dye,” Christine suggested, excitement rising in her voice. “And I could cut it.”

“You’re not a hairdresser, Chris,” Brooke said. “I’m not sure how well you could cut it… no offense.” She hated to say it, but sometimes Christine can get carried away with these types of things, and Brooke wanted to come away from the ordeal with at least some hair intact.

Christine frowns. “No, I’ve totally got this, Brooke,” she said, not letting the lack of faith deter her. “I’m serious- I won’t make you look bad.”

So that’s how Brooke finds herself in her current position- i.e., in the bathroom, surrounded by bits of her own hair, which would be a bitch and a half to clean up. She has to admit, she doesn’t hate it; her hair’s been chopped down to about chin-length, longer on one side than the other. It's… unique. The red-violet color is nice, though; in fact, it looks really good on her, if she may say so herself.

“So, how do you like it?” Christine asks, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

Brooke is unable to hold back a smile to match her girlfriend’s. “I love it, Christine. Thank you.”


	21. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

The amazing thing about Brooke Lohst, Jeremy thinks to himself, is that she’s willing to be so vulnerable. Granted, he’s not sure how real it is, especially after what Chloe told him on Halloween- he shudders at the reminder; he tries not to think about that particular encounter- but he’s trying to be more trusting again. He can’t keep his guard up forever, no matter how much the SQUIP hurt him.

They sit on her bed now, just the two of them, not in the way they did that fall with their lips pressed together, but just enjoying each others’ company as friends.

Brooke worries her lip. “Okay… I have something to confess, Jeremy.”

Immediately, anxiety rushes into Jeremy’s veins. What was he supposed to say if she had a crush on him still? He was having a great time with Christine; he wasn’t going to date her. Could he bear breaking her heart again? “Um… yeah, go for it,” he says after a few nervous seconds.

Brooke takes a deep breath in, then sighs it out, looking down at her freshly painted nails. “I have a crush on Chloe,” she admits.

“I’m really sorry, I- what?” Jeremy cocks his head in confusion. “Wait, Chloe?”

“Did you think I was going to say you?” Brooke laughs, lifting the somber mood. “Jeremy, don’t worry, I’m totally over you. It’s okay!”

“Okay, well, that’s good, but like…” Jeremy lowers his voice. “You know Chloe is sort of a huge bitch, right?”

“Be nice, you’re her friend!” Brooke protests. “I mean, you’re right, but you shouldn’t say it.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay? I… I won’t let you get hurt,” Jeremy says, sounding ballsier than he feels.

Brooke rolls her eyes as she pats Jeremy’s back reassuringly. “Jerry, it’s fine, I promise. We’ve been best friends for years; I know how to handle her. Besides, who said she would like me back in the first place?”

“Well, you can hurt somebody without dating them. Or you can hurt them by dating somebody else.” Jeremy, the softie that he is, couldn’t listen to Mr. Brightside even after he and Christine got together; it was too real.

“I really appreciate it, Jeremy, but I’m a big girl, alright? I can take care of this.” Brooke leans against him, and Jeremy smiles; it’s good to see her confident again. “Hey, speaking of which, do you wanna help me send a confession text?”

“What? No! You know I’m gonna fuck that up.”

“Yeah, just kidding.”


	22. "I need you to trust me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is longer than I thought it would be lmao, enjoy the richjake.

There were so many things that the SQUIP had to train out of him. Rich wasn’t allowed to lisp, wasn’t allowed to wash his hands (which was absolutely disgusting at first, but he got used to it), wasn’t allowed to hang out with his sparse collection of old friends. He also, of course, wasn’t allowed to feel anything for other boys.

The easiest part about the whole situation was, surprisingly, coming out. It was just to Jeremy, after all (not counting Michael, who had basically snuck up on him, but Michael was nobody to worry about; the kid’s gay anyway), so it was fine. It was exciting, even; why shouldn’t he celebrate his newfound identity? If other people could, then so could he.

Outside that stark white hospital room, though, things got real. It was no longer hypothetical, it was tried and true- there were boys passing by him in the halls that he was attracted to, and he couldn’t deny that. It was fine just being around Jeremy and Michael, since a) he wasn’t into Jeremy in that way and b) Michael was clearly too hooked on Jeremy to be on his radar (unfortunate, because he’s a pretty handsome guy, but whatever.) But then there was Jake.

Who wouldn’t be attracted to Jake? He’s the most popular guy in school, awesome at sports, hot as hell, and surprisingly kind, if a little self-centered and not great at relationships. Really, Rich could forgive him for that; hell, he’d spent $400 on a little robot thing to make him better and shed all his old friends, so who was the self centered one now?

The terror comes to a head at Jake’s New Year’s Eve party. God knows where his parents are at; they haven’t come home yet, and it’s crushingly hard on the guy, Rich knows that, but Jake can admit that the parties are pretty killer. Music beats through the house, and Rich can feel the throb of the bass in his chest as he sits next to Jake on the couch. Jake’s got better liquor this time around; Rich takes a sip from his combination blue Gatorade and blue raspberry vodka and glances at Jake out of the corner of his eye. “So… um, what’s up with Chloe?” he asks, finding himself with a lack of words.

Jake snorts. “Dude, I haven’t banged her since Halloween. I keep you up to date on all that stuff, don’t even worry about it.” He takes a drink from his beer and adds, “Why, what?”

“Oh, you know, just making conversation,” Rich says. He can’t say the true reason, of course, not out here, not with everyone around. He couldn’t possibly tell Jake how he feels, because that would ruin everything, wouldn’t it? Sure, Jake was into guys, and pretty open about it too, but once you get abused daily for over a year by a computer chip in your brain, it gets hard to accept who you are. What if Jake thought he was gross? Rich knows logically that he’s not half bad looking- the SQUIP had made sure of that- but he still felt ugly there, sitting like a tumor on Jake’s couch, wanting him so badly and not being able to do anything about it.

Rich is stirred from his self-loathing thoughts when Jake asks, “Wanna go play some foosball? I don’t think anybody’s in the basement.”

Rich perks up at that. “Oh, hell yeah,” he says, grinning. He can always count on foosball to cheer him up; of all the games that are played on tables, it’s his favorite.

There’s only two people in the basement when Rich and Jake arrive; they’re seated on the couch next to the laundry room door, lip-locked and moaning. “Turn around! Lemme see that action,” Rich calls, and the couple break apart, scowling at the interruption. Rich just shrugs.

“Ignore ‘em,” Jake says, and walks further down the stairs; as he passes him, his hand brushes Rich’s, and Rich freezes for a split second before continuing his descent.

The couple leave eventually, fed up with the disruption of Rich and Jake’s cheers as they score. “Did I tell you I nailed a girl on this table?” Jake asks as he maneuvers the bars.

“What? You totally didn’t,” Rich says. “That would kill your back, are you insane?”

“God’s honest truth,” Jake says. “Dragged a few blankets onto it from that couch and had ourselves a good time. It was a little lumpy, though.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” Rich laughs, and rolls his eyes. Still, he finds himself slightly jealous of whatever imaginary girl Jake supposedly banged down here. It’s not that he wants to have sex with Jake (although he does, but whatever), it’s that he craves the closeness, the intimacy of touching another person. It’s been a long time. After a minute, he adds, “I’d rather just make out on the couch.” Immediately, he berates himself: why did he say that? That could be taken so badly, and it probably would be- he’s not subtle at all, not in this half-drunk state, not next to the boy he’s been into for longer than he cares to admit.

Jake doesn’t take it negatively, though. “Yeah, I would too,” he says, and manages to score while Rich is distracted. “I’ve done that plenty of times. ’S not half bad.”

What is Rich even supposed to say to that? What the hell is this conversation? He wishes he could be anywhere but here in this basement, deafened by the music blasting from upstairs. Eventually, he comes up with, “Yeah, I’m sure.” He clears his throat, then, and looks away. “So… what’s it like? Like… making out with a guy?” It’s a painfully embarrassing question, but Jake isn’t the type to judge; that’s another thing he knows logically.

Jake considers it for a moment. “Sort of the same as making out with a girl, I guess. There’s less boob-grabbing, though,” he says. “But it’s the same, y'know, mechanics. Teeth on the lip, hand in the hair, all that.”

Rich would give his left leg to make out with Jake right this instant, frankly. He hasn’t yearned for anything like this in a long time. When he was SQUIPped, he got whatever he wanted; there was no need for this feeling. It’s back, though, and it’s killing him. “Cool,” he says eventually, “because I’ve never, y'know, done it.”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “What, never? It’s been a month and a half, man. What’ve you even been doing?”

“There’s not many guys who like guys at our school!” Rich says. “I dunno. And I feel like I should save it for someone special, y'know? Like, my first kiss with a girl was with some rando. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“There’s Michael,” Jake points out. “He’s pretty good-looking.”

“He’s totally whipped for Jeremy, though. And Jeremy is with Christine. And you…” Rich pauses. “I thought you were with Chloe, but I guess not.”

Jake nods and echoes, “I guess not.”

Rich swallows sharply. He’s so close he can taste it; he just needs to seal the deal somehow.

Before he can, though, Jake says, “So, do you want to…”

“Fucking absolutely,” Rich cuts in, and immediately, any thought of playing foosball is kicked out of his mind. Jake isn’t kidding about this, he realizes as the two of them head for the couch; he’s actually, honest to God serious about this. When they sit down next to each other, though, Rich finds himself frozen to the spot. “I don’t… know what to do now,” he admits.

“I told you, it’s just like doing it with a girl,” Jake says, putting a hand on Rich’s shoulder.

“No, it’s not! It’s different! Because you’re a guy and I’m a guy and this isn’t supposed to be happening,” Rich protests, then takes a deep breath. “Nobody’s ever told me that this is okay before.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Jake says. “Seriously, I promise. I need you to trust me.”

Some of the tension slips from Rich’s shoulders, but the rest still lingers; how is he supposed to trust like that? He takes another deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Okay, I trust you,” he says, and it’s not completely a lie, but fear tinges his words.

Jake is more gentle than he would’ve expected. Second after second, Rich’s fear dissipates under his lips; he lets his eyes close so that the only thing he’s taking in is the feel of skin on skin, of Jake’s hand in his hair (just like he said), of Jake’s lips on his. How could he have deprived himself of this for so long? It wasn’t of his own volition, but he still regrets not standing up for himself more. Everything about this feels right, no matter how much the voice at the back of his head tells him otherwise. He could drown in this.

“Understand now?” Jake asks when they break the kiss, and Rich nods.

“Perfectly.”


	23. "Are you drunk? Oh, my God, you're drunk." II

“Are you drunk? Oh, my God, you're drunk.” Brooke laughs, half amused and half concerned, at Chloe, whose head is currently in her lap. “How much did you _drink?”_

“I don't know. A lot. Does it matter?” Chloe mumbles. “They got me caught up in a game of beer pong, and you know I'm shitty at that.” Her words are slurred, but Brooke can still understand them; that's the power of ~~love~~ friendship.

Brooke strokes Chloe's hair gently, praying it won't make things weird. Things aren't usually as weird when someone is drunk than when they're sober, which is good. She's not sure she could handle it if things got weird.

“Ooh, keep doing that, it feels _super_ good,” Chloe says, and Brooke brightens up, a guilty smile crossing her features.

They lie like that for a few minutes, Chloe nearly asleep on her couch and Brooke playing with her hair, before Brooke says- regretfully- “Maybe you should go to bed. Oh, and don't forget to drink some water; I don't want you to get hungover.”

“You're so _sweet,”_ Chloe says, voice muffled by the soft fabric of Brooke's skirt. “Why are you so sweet?”

Brooke shrugs, although she knows that Chloe can't see her- maybe she could feel it? “I dunno,” she answers. “I mean, you're my best friend. I like you a lot, so… of course I'm going to be sweet.” She doesn't inform Chloe that by ‘like’ she means _‘like_ like’. Now probably isn't the time.

“Awww, I like you too, Brooke,” Chloe says, smiling warmly against Brooke's thigh. “Like, a lot.”

Brooke pauses, hand stilling. Is that supposed to be a confession? It sounds a little like it. Granted, she just said the same thing, but… Chloe isn't the type to show affection like that, even while drunk. She's mostly a slutty drunk, although Brooke would never tell that to her face. Chloe knows it, of course, but still.

“What's wrong, Brookie?” Chloe asks. “Chocolate chip Brookie…”

Brooke nearly dies at that. That's probably the cutest thing anyone’s ever called her, and she's had plenty of pet names from plenty of suitors before. When she realizes she hasn't replied yet, she quickly says, “Nothing! Nothing's wrong.” She continues to pet Chloe's hair, hoping her hands aren't shaking too noticeably.

Eventually, Chloe's breathing slows; she never got up to drink any water like Brooke had suggested, but it seems she'd fallen asleep. Brooke smiles down at her, completely charmed- enamored, even- and glances around to see if anybody's looking before she leans down and kisses Chloe's temple. “Goodnight, Chlo,” she whispers.


	24. "Oh, my God, you're in love!" II

The text arrives in Jeremy’s inbox at half past one in the morning on a Saturday. He hasn’t slept, of course; social media and podcasts beckon, and who is he to deny them? After finishing up the sentence he was typing on Twitter, he grabs his phone from his nightstand and glances down.

_oh my GOD you’re in LOVE_

From Michael, of course. Who else? Jeremy gives a bemused chuckle, completely oblivious. Their previous conversation had been about a picture of a possum Michael had sent; where’s this coming from all of a sudden? He types out a simple response:  _??????_

A few seconds later-  _your vagueposts on tumblr, do you REALLY think you’re not, like, totally obvious_

Jeremy hums to himself as he realizes what Michael is talking about. It’s true- about an hour prior, he had posted something along the lines of,  _“hey lads what does it mean when you wanna spend like… all your time with one specific person but you’re afraid you’re super annoying and that they hate being around you and you just want to impress them,”_  which is basically his mood 24/7. But that doesn’t mean he’s in love! He just has a lot of feelings.

_hey that could be platonic! i’m not THAT much of a useless bisexual_

_okay yeah it Could be platonic but i know you well enough to know that it Super isn’t. give it up my guy_

Okay, so maybe it’s true. Maybe Jeremy has a crush. But is it really that big of a deal? These things happen! It’s not like it’ll ever happen anyway, so whatever, right?

_Alright fine, so maybe i have a crush ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ what does it matter_

_you’re my best friend! i like knowing about these things because you’re important to me. …so who’s it on_

Jeremy makes a choking noise and shoves his phone under his pillow. Okay! He’s definitely not going to be answering that. If Michael is right, which he very well might be, then he’s certainly not going to tell him and ruin their friendship. (Seriously- who else would it be? Things didn’t work out with Christine or Brooke, Chloe kinda-sorta sexually assaulted him, a breakup with Jenna would be disastrous, and Rich and Jake are already dating. It’s either Michael or, God forbid, he date outside of his trauma-forged friend group.)

Eventually, his phone buzzes again, and Jeremy reluctantly digs it out from beneath his pillow.  _jeremy?? you can’t just ghost me i’m at the edge of my phucking seat_

Jeremy groans, and, dropping the phone, shoves his face in his hands. As much as he adores Michael, he’s persistent as hell; there’s no way he’s getting out of this one. If it was anyone else, he would feel violated, but Michael’s been his best friend for thirteen years- if there’s anyone who deserves to know, it’s him. Hesitantly, he types out, okay,  _do you Really wanna know?_

_uh, yes? absolutely???? spill it dude i promise i won’t judge_

Alright, moment of truth. After a moment of debating himself, Jeremy settles on just sending a simple, two-word text instead of going for a grand gesture. Steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and types,  _you_. His thumb hovers over the send button for a few moments, and he nearly discards the text, but he presses it eventually. He’s tired of being a coward.

There’s not another reply for a good ten minutes. Of course there isn’t. Jeremy’s just ruined his best friendship (again!) by having these garbage-ass feelings and freaking Michael out, because who would want him to have a crush on them? Look at him! He’s ridiculous! A fool in a man’s shoes. Jeremy tugs sharply on a strand of his dark hair to keep himself from catastrophizing and to cease the negative self-talk; it barely works, but it’s enough to get him through until his phone goes off again.

_oh my godddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd omg_

Jeremy’s heart falls. Fucking great.

_good or bad omg…._

The answer is almost immediate:  _GOOD OMG im freaking my Focking bean that’s nuts_

Jeremy feels like he’s been punched in the stomach, but, like, in a good way. No way would Michael like him back, but… maybe he does? Does this mean he does? Maybe he just likes the attention, but…

_oh yeah, since you’re definitely freaking out rn, this Does mean i like you back_

That gets a smile out of Jeremy. Michael knows him too well for his own good. fuckin sweet a football is all he can think to say, which is dumb, but he knows Michael will find it funny, and that’s all that matters. so… can i like… take you out them sometime or is that a no

_okay well. you’re broke as shit (no offense) so it’s going to be Me who’s taking You out, but yeah absolutely_

_good point. i’ll get a job someday ): in the meantime you’ll be my sugar daddy_

_i take it back. I don’t like you actually good Night_


	25. "How long have you been standing there?"

Jeremy doesn’t register Michael’s question at first. It takes a repetition or two- “Jeremy? How long have you been standing there?”- before he realizes that he’s being spoken to. “I dunno,” he mumbles, then sighs. He sure as hell doesn’t want to be standing here like a robot that’s run out of batteries, leaning against his bedroom’s door frame, but he doesn’t have it in him to move. This happens sometimes- ever since the SQUIP, his body and mind are all sorts of weird.

Michael takes a step closer, reaching out with one hand, and Jeremy flinches away. “Shit, sorry,” Michael says, sympathy crossing his features. “What can I do for you? I hate seeing you like this, man. It’s freaky.”

Jeremy’s affect is flat as he answers, “I don’t know. Wait, why are you here?”

“You invited me over, remember?” Michael says. “At lunch. You asked if I wanted to come over after school, and I said yes. So… here I am.”

Jeremy simply hums in acknowledgement, unable to come up with a response that involves words. He’s pretty sure he’s dissociating or something, except, do people know when they’re dissociating? Maybe the knowledge that he might be dissociating means that he’s not. Maybe he doesn’t really know what dissociating is. That word gets thrown around a lot. Whatever’s going on, it feels like shit. 

“You should lie down or something,” Michael suggests after a minute of silence. “I really don’t mind if you don’t wanna, like, play video games or anything. I’m just worried about you, man.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jeremy says, knowing damn well he probably won’t be. This isn’t fine. None of this is fine! He’s too depressed to move away from the door frame. He’s too zoned out to hold a real conversation. He knows that recovery has its ups and downs, and he knows that a day of relapse doesn’t mean it’s all for naught, but damn, does it ever feel like it. 

“I don’t think you’re fine, though,” Michael says, echoing Jeremy’s thoughts. It’s almost a relief that he can see through his bullshit, but it also sucks that he can’t lie to him like he can with most other people. “Can you at least try to lie down?”

“...I don’t know if I can move,” Jeremy admits. His muscles feel frozen, static; his arms can’t unwrap themselves from his chest, and his legs can’t bend and straighten like he needs them to. “I don’t know. I think I need help.”

Michael reaches out his hand again, and this time, Jeremy lets him place it on his shoulder, accepting the gentle touch. “I know I’m not the best with words or anything,” Michael says, “but I’ve got you, okay? I’ll carry you if I need to.”

Jeremy grimaces. “Yeah, I sure hope it won’t come to that. I don’t know what to do, though.” How many times has he said ‘I don’t know’ in the past five minutes? Five? Ten? An embarrassing amount, whatever it is. If it were anyone else but Michael, he would have offed himself from the shame already, but there’s little else he could do around that particular friend to make him judge him any more than the minimal amount he already does. 

“I’m going to try something, alright?” Michael asks, and waits for Jeremy to give a nod of acquiescence- which he does- before gently tugging one of his hands out from where it’s wedged in his armpit. 

Jeremy twitches, but doesn’t say anything; truth be told, the touch feels good on his skin.

“C’mon,” Michael says, and tugs him forward into the bedroom; Jeremy still feels as though he can’t move his muscles, but, miracle of miracles, he manages to take a step forward. He has no other choice, of course, but it’s still progress. Michael smiles encouragingly and says, “Hey, that’s the spirit.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Jeremy says, barely audible.

“Of course you are! Don’t downplay it. It’s a bad habit.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“And don’t apologize so much, either,” Michael says. Before Jeremy can respond with another apology, he pulls him another step forward, and, although he almost trips over his feet, Jeremy manages to follow.

At last, the two of them reach the bed, and Jeremy flops, exhausted, onto the space-print blankets. “That was ridiculous,” he mutters, though he’s not angry at Michael- only himself.

“No thank you, huh?” Michael asks as he lies down next to Jeremy.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks, man,” Jeremy says. “I just hate that I’m like this, you know?”

“Good thing I love you enough for both of us,” Michael says, and the warmth of it strikes Jeremy through his numbness; despite it all, he cracks a smile.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, and with that, maybe the day is salvageable.


	26. "You need to go to sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao sorry I haven't written anything but ficlets for the past [checks watch] 7 months, it's just like that sometimes. I did do a boyf riends secret Santa though, so watch out for a 2k word fic in about a week!

In his younger days- that is, two years ago, back in high school- Jeremy would have no qualms about staying up until one in the morning on a weeknight, playing flash games or watching unmentionable stuff or just dicking around on his follower-less social media. Now, though, when he has an 8 AM in the morning and when he actually gives a shit about his grades, it’s less than convenient. 

Yet, here he is at one in the morning- 1:16, actually, he notes as he glances over at the alarm clock on his nightstand- wide awake and hating it. He knows that if he closes his eyes, stays still, and tries to count to 900 (fifteen minutes, which he’s read is the magic number that puts people right to sleep), he’ll fall asleep before he reaches 200. Something in him keeps him from closing his eyes, though; he can do it for a few seconds, but anything more than that seems like a death sentence. It’s not that he’s afraid of the dark or anything- he hasn’t been since, say, freshman year of high school- but he’s been having nightmares lately.

They’re about the SQUIP, of course. What on Earth else would they possibly be about? It’s been three  _ fucking  _ years and he’s still dreaming about that stupid shitty computer. It’s not even like he wasn’t traumatized before, but his rocky childhood (thanks, Mom!) was still nothing compared to physical and mental (and, in a way, sexual) abuse. It’s worth berating himself about (not that anything isn’t), because it was only for, what, a month and a half? And yet it’s fucked him over for the foreseeable future. 

A voice from beside him startles Jeremy out of his nega-reverie, making him start as if an electric shock has been shot down his spine. “You need to go to sleep,” Michael says softly, placing a hand on the crook of Jeremy’s elbow.

Once he relaxes, Jeremy breathes out, a slow exhale that goes to the bottom of his lungs. “I guess, man. It’s just…” He curls and uncurls a finger in his dark hair, tugging gently, aching to feel something. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

“About what? Zombies, the apocalypse, going to school in your underwear?” Michael asks, as if he’s stupid enough to not know what the answer is.

“You know what they’re about,” Jeremy answers. “I can’t get it out of my head. I mean… I know it’s  _ out of my head,  _ but I still can’t get it out.” It’s something he’s repined plenty of times to Michael and the rest of their friend group- even to Mr. Reyes, sometimes- but he can’t help it; the pain is so ever-present that, if he doesn’t let it out in words, he’ll let it out in other, bloodier ways. 

Michael tugs on Jeremy’s arm, and Jeremy follows, laying his head on his chest and slinging an arm around his waist. “You know, you’ll get sick if you don’t sleep,” Michael says. “You’ll get even more depressed, and then you won’t be able to concentrate on things, and then you’ll get hallucinations and stuff.”

“I already  _ have  _ hallucinations,” Jeremy points out.

“Okay, but you still need to sleep. Seriously. If you don’t, you’ll die.”

“It’s  _ one night,  _ Michael,” Jeremy says. “It’s not going to kill me, I promise. Just give me this?”

Michael shakes his head. “No can do, bud. I worry about you, for real.”

“I know you do, and I’m sorry, but like… I don’t know. I’m tired of this, man. I don’t want to wake up sweating and afraid anymore.” Jeremy gives a shuddering sigh, squeezing his eyes shut tight before opening them again.

“How long has this been going on?” Michael asks.

“I dunno. Three days, maybe four,” Jeremy says. He wriggles closer to Michael, pressing his face against his chest. He’s an anchor.

“Do you think it’ll help if I hold you?”

“Tempting. Maybe.”

“Then I’ll do it,” Michael says, and wraps his arms around him; Jeremy relaxes just the slightest bit at the warm, loving touch. 

In this position, with the boy who, logically, is probably the love of his life, maybe things are going to be okay. It’s a long shot, a slim chance, but it’s one he’s willing to risk.


	27. "Would you just hold still?"

“Okay, first things first, you look  _ awesome,”  _ Brooke says, nodding in approval, “but you still don't know how to tie a tie.”

“My dad never taught me how,” Jeremy says weakly. His entire body is a skinny ball of nerves, and, true, he's happy, but he's also terrified. He squirms as Brooke adjusts his tie.

“Would you just hold still?” Brooke asks, then sticks out her tongue in concentration. “Look, I get that you're nervous. I was nervous with Chloe, too! But you've gotta grin and bear it, because it's aaaaall gonna be worth it when you say those vows.”

“Well, I know  _ that,”  _ Jeremy says. “I've been looking forward to this for so long. I'm just nervous. What if I mess it up?”

Brooke stands back to admire her minor adjustment. “Hm. Acceptable.”

“Brooke?”

“Okay, so… on the not-so-off chance you mess up, Michael's gonna laugh and call you cute,” Brooke says. “He's your fiance, and your best friend. I know for a fact he thinks it's super sweet when you trip over your words.”

“Well, he has to accept it,” Jeremy says, “otherwise he would've gotten annoyed and dumped me already.”

Brooke looks around for somewhere to sit, but, not finding any, gestures for Jeremy to lean against the wall with her. “Look, Jeremy, you're gonna be fine. You're gonna go out there, your dad will walk you down the aisle or something, I dunno, you'll say your vows and stuff, you'll kiss Michael, and you'll be fine. I promise.”

“But-”

“But nothing. Look, when Chlo and I got married, I was so scared, I almost cancelled it the day of!” Brooke slings an arm around Jeremy and rocks him back and forth against the wall. “You'll be fine. I pinkie promise.” With her free hand, she sticks out one pinkie, and Jeremy hesitantly wraps his own around it.

“Thanks, Brooke,” he says.

“You ready?”

Jeremy manages a shaky smile and nods. “I was  _ born  _ ready.”

“That's the spirit!”


	28. Petrichor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one- and the next few- are going to be a little different; they're based off of words instead of dialogue prompts.  
> 

The day Jeremy gets out of the hospital, it’s unseasonably warm. That isn’t to say the weather is nice, though, because it isn’t. The first sensation he notes when he steps outside, still shaky on his weakened legs, is the smell of dirt after rain- _petrichor,_ he remembers somewhere in the folds of his brain, a remnant from days where he actually took joy in learning new words. He doesn’t mind the dreariness, really. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s the mud that trips him up.

**Watch your step. You’ll ruin your shoes.**

Jeremy freezes, knuckles going white around the handle of his bag of belongings. This couldn’t be happening. He drank the Red! Well, Christine drank the Red, but that’s semantics. Regardless of who started the chain reaction, he shouldn’t be hearing Keanu Reeves’ stupid voice in his head, and yet…

“Jeremy? Are you okay?”

He hadn’t realized that his eyes were clenched shut, but Jeremy finds himself opening them, finding Michael’s gaze almost immediately. “I…” He pauses. If he says it out loud, then it’s real. If he says it out loud, then he loses. If he says it out loud…

“You what?” Michael asks, and waves a hand in front of Jeremy’s face. “You’re freaking me out, here, duder.”

“I…” Jeremy swallows, then turns away. “It’s nothing. Come on, let’s catch up with Dad.”

 

The voice doesn’t stop there, though. It’s less frequent than before, and there’s no electricity flooding down his spine to go with it, but it’s there, and it’s _mean._

**Stop staring at her like an idiot and put your hand on hers.**

After half a week of pussying out, Jeremy had eventually given into peer pressure and asked out Christine, which would have killed him inside if she hadn’t given him an enthusiastic “Yes!” and a kiss on the cheek. He would have preferred to not have any voices in his head when he’s trying to go on the first real date of his life- that is, the first date with someone he was actually interested in and not just someone the SQUIP wanted him to bang- but when’s the last time he got what he wanted without having it go south?

He must have been zoning out hardcore, because Christine has to snap her fingers in front of his face a few times before he finally shakes his head and says, “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was talking about how Duncan Sheik can’t adapt anything into a musical without trying to give irredeemable protagonists redemption arcs,” Christine says, “but then you started acting all weird. Staring and stuff.”

Jeremy’s heart falls. He must have looked like such a dick. He honestly would have been interested in what Christine was saying, because of course he would be, she’s one of the smartest people he knows, but… he can’t help it. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbles, then takes a long sip from his water. “I, um, just… zoned out.”

“I noticed.” Christine looks away and sighs. “Look, if you aren’t interested…”

So he _did_ look like a dick! “No, nonono,” Jeremy says, waving his hands, “I’m totally interested! Like, he really screwed the pooch with Spring Awakening, it’s just…” He lowers his voice, glancing around to make sure nobody is listening in on them. “Okay, you know how the Red got rid of the SQUIPS?”

Christine nods. “I sure _hope_ it got rid of them. That was too much screaming to be worth it if it didn’t.”

“Well, um… I still hear mine,” Jeremy admits for the first time. “A-and I don’t know if it’s real or if I’m just hallucinating or having intrusive thoughts in Keanu Reeves’ voice or what.”

“Keanu Reeves? Mine was Hillary Clinton.”

“That’s a good one. But, um…”

“Right! Sorry. Are you… okay?” Christine asks, placing a hand on Jeremy’s. “That must be really scary.”

Is it scary? Jeremy doesn’t know what it is. In fact, it’s not really anything. He goes numb when he hears it, robotic; he’s a cat, and the little pretend(?) SQUIP in his head is grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and making him go limp. Actually, that’s a pretty entertaining mental image. Jeremy chuckles, but when Christine gives him a quizzical look, he says, “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“You know, Jake was telling me that Rich had the same issue,” Christine says. “Maybe you should talk to him about this.”

“Talk to Rich about it?” Somehow, the idea hadn’t occurred to him.

**That’s because you’re a dumbass, Jeremy. Honestly, what would you do without me?**

_Shut up._

When he realizes he’s been silent for too long, Jeremy hurriedly says, “Oh! Yeah, I will. Thanks, Christine.” He breathes out, smiles, tries to focus on Christine’s beautiful features so he doesn’t go insane. “Anyway. Duncan Sheik?”

“Right! So…”

 

“Do you still hear the SQUIP?”

Beneath the burn scars, Rich blanches, pausing the video game he and Jeremy are playing. “Where did you hear that?” he demands.

Jeremy flinches, a consequence of the year of bullying he’d endured at Rich’s hands. _We’re friends,_ he reminds himself. _We’re friends. Cut it out. We’re friends._ “I, um… Jake told me,” he says, not wanting to get Christine wrapped up in all this. He hadn’t counted on Rich being defensive, but then again, it tracks; he doesn’t seem like a guy who likes to be vulnerable. Not anymore.

“Jake told you? He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone!” Rich rubs his temples, then sighs. “Alright, fine. Yeah, I still hear my SQUIP sometimes. What of it?”

“I hear mine, too,” Jeremy says. “Not very often, but it still talks to me. Or maybe I’m hallucinating. I might be hallucinating.” He fiddles with his controller, making sure not to accidentally unpause the game.

“Well, headphones guy- Michael, I mean- says he got rid of them. Maybe we’re both just hearing things.”

“You think?” Jeremy asks. “I mean… and don’t tell him I said this… what if he was wrong? What if it just weakened it?”

“Then we drink more Red,” Rich says. “And… we go to the SQUIP factory in Japan or whatever and we burn it… down.” He falls silent, eyes raking over the burn scars on his arms.

**Good job, Jeremy. You reminded him of his trauma. Now he’ll love you forever.**

“I just heard it,” Jeremy says. “Right now.”

“What did it say?”

“Uh…” Jeremy flounders as he attempts to think up a lie on the spot. “It said there’s more than one SQUIP factory in Japan.”

“Then we’ll take them all down!”

“RIght.” Jeremy sighs, then blinks as something dawns on him. “No, actually, you _are_ right. A voice can’t do anything to either of us- it’s just a voice.”

“Alright, mister motivational speaker,” Rich says, but there’s a smile on his face when he rolls his eyes. “As long as we’re being all soft and squishy… we’ll get through this together, dude. For real.”

For the first time that day, Jeremy smiles and says, “Yeah, man. For real.”


	29. Lalochezia

It’s odd- Jeremy didn’t used to swear much before the SQUIP. The worst he said was ‘shit’ once in a while, and that was only when he really wanted to make a point, which wasn’t too often. He never said bitch, either, except when referring to his mother. That’s why Michael nearly has a heart attack when Jeremy shouts  _ “Fuck!”  _ one afternoon after school.

Michael bolts off of Jeremy’s bed and runs for the stairs. What if the SQUIP was abusing him again? They’d gotten rid of it, true, but Jeremy could still hear it- what if they weren’t just hallucinations? What if he was having a flashback? What if he-

“I stubbed my toe,” Jeremy explains, shaking his leg as he glares at the leg of the offending coffee table. “Hurt like a bitch.”

Michael frowns. The words sound unnatural coming from Jeremy’s tongue; it almost gives him the creeps.  _ Calm down,  _ he tells himself, _ you’re overreacting. They’re just words.  _ “Um, are you okay?” he asks, unsure of what else to do. “You sorta screamed a little.”

Jeremy looks up and cocks his head, a blank expression in his eyes. “Did I?”

“You said the fuck word, too. That’s my thing,” Michael jokes, but it falls flat. “Is that something new?”

‘Something new’, at this point, means ‘something that happened because of the SQUIP’ for the two of them. What else could have changed things? They’d been the same doofy kids for years- at least, Michael had.

“Um…” Jeremy thinks on it for a second before his brow furrows. “Oh. Yeah, it is. It said I would look cooler if I swore more, except around Christine, because she wouldn’t like swearing.”

“It’s weird, man. I don’t wanna tell you to cut it out, ‘cuz if it makes you happy, I’m not gonna harsh your vibe, but…” Michael grimaces. “I sorta miss the Jeremy who didn’t say fuck all the time.”

“...Sorry,” Jeremy says, voice infinitesimal; Michael can barely hear it. “I just, um… It got mad at me when I didn’t say those things. Like, it wouldn’t let me say ‘damn’.”

“No, no, you don’t have to apologize,” Michael says, cursing himself internally. He’s never been that good with words, maybe a little too blunt, and Jeremy’s been more sensitive ever since all of that shit went down. “Just, um… sit down with me.” He sits down on a nearby couch and pats the cushion next to him.

The way Jeremy walks over and sits down is stiff, nearly robotic; it’s nauseating. There, he’s done it again: commands no longer process right to Jeremy. He’s almost incapable of disobeying, and, while that  _ should  _ be a good thing, it really, really isn’t. 

Michael can’t help wrapping an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders when he makes it to the couch. “Hey, I’m sorry if I sounded insensitive. I just worry about you.”

“You didn’t,” Jeremy assures him. “I know I’m being weird. Just gimme a little and I’ll get over it, alright? I’ll go back to normal.”

“I don’t want normal, though,” Michael says. “I mean… I want you to be happy and stuff, but I want  _ you,  _ whoever that happens to be.” Is he actually saying what he means in a way that actually sounds good? That’s a first. It’s also pretty gay, which he’ll own up to, because he’s pretty gay himself.

“That’s pretty gay,” Jeremy says weakly, echoing Michael’s thoughts. “Um, thanks. I want you along for the ride, just so you know. Really.”

“I could never say no to you,” Michael says, and means it.


	30. Ultracrepidarian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild TW for the q slur being used in a derogatory fashion.

The first time they try, Jeremy doesn’t understand.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me I don’t know what isolation is like? I’ve had one friend in my entire life up until now!” he says. He’s not actually angry at Michael- not really- but he’s a skinny ball of nerves ready to explode, and sometimes his temper gets hard to control. He takes a deep breath in, then sighs it out. “Sorry, it’s just…”

Michael runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, then clenches it. “Dude, it’s different! It’s like- things were alright because I had you, and then I  _ didn’t.  _ That’s worse than isolation! It’s abandonment!”

“So now you get how I feel: lonely all the time.”

Michael closes his eyes and rubs them, sighing. “I get that you’re making an effort to understand, but it’s not the same. It’s like that Shakespeare thing.”

“That Shakespeare thing?” Jeremy cocks his head.

“Yeah, that, um…” Michael snaps his fingers as he tries to remember. “‘Better to have loved and lost’ and all that bullshit. It’s not true.” He turns away, and Jeremy’s heart sinks as he spots the telltale glimmer of tears in his eyes.

The classroom is empty, but Jeremy swears the whole school can hear when he says, “I’m  _ sorry.”  _

 

The second time they try, Jeremy still doesn’t understand. This time, it’s in his bedroom- the first time he’s had Michael over since shit went down.

“Okay, so I admit that being lonely because you don’t have many friends and being lonely because your friend abandoned you are two different things,” he says, staring down at the wireless controller he’d picked up to fiddle with. “But I’m here now, okay? I promise I won’t do that again.”

“I know you promised, and… really, thanks for that. It means a lot.” Michael taps his fingers on the bedspread. “There’s just something missing, and I don’t know how to explain it. You keep talking like you understand it, but I don’t think you get it.”

“I’m trying,” Jeremy protests. He doesn’t really mind that Michael’s being like this- he would definitely be the same way- but it’s hard when he can’t get to the heart of the matter. “I want to make it up to you, okay? I really do.”

“Thanks. I promise I’m not trying to be difficult, it’s just…” He pauses, looks somewhere beyond Jeremy’s shoulder. “It’s hard, y’know?”

“I get it,” Jeremy says. “I think. Can you help me understand?”

 

The third time they try, something clicks.

“Holy shit. You were in love with me.”

“That’s what I said,” Michael says, “and I still am, for the record.”

“That’s bogus, dude. That’s fuckin’ bonkers in yonkers.” Jeremy looks down at the wood of Michael’s kitchen table, shining in the moonlight that falls in through the picture window. “I think I really get it now.”

“It’s just like if Christine went off and totally blew you off for some other guy.”

“She did, actually,” Jeremy says. “She dated Jake for, like, a month.”

“Okay, but if Christine had also been your best friend for twelve years.”

Jeremy nods. “I see your point.” He taps his long fingers arrhythmically on the table and adds, “I don’t know what to do about this, though. I feel like this is supposed to change things.”

“Well, does it?” Michael asks. He looks away again- he’s been looking away a lot these past few months. It’s almost unsettling.

Jeremy thinks on it for a long while. Sure, Michael is in love with him, but that’s made no difference in the way he treats him. It’s not like he’s tried to kiss him or anything, outside of obvious jokes, which he’s chill with. But if he  _ did  _ try to kiss him, would it be that big of a deal? With a slight widening of his eyes, it dawns on Jeremy that he really wouldn’t mind that much. “Ah… no, it doesn’t change things,” he answers finally. 

“Are you sure? Because I don’t want you to change your mind and be like, ‘ew, Michael, you’re so  _ queer, _ don’t touch me’.”

“I’m bi, man, I wouldn’t do that.”

“You  _ could,  _ though, is the thing,” Michael says, and raises his eyes to look at Jeremy again. “I don’t really know anymore.”

Jeremy takes a deep breath in, then sighs it out. “I wouldn’t do that, because… I think it’s kinda sweet.”

“‘Sweet’?”

“Yeah, sweet. And… I mean… I wouldn’t  _ object  _ to, like, I dunno. Kissing… you… or something.” The words taste like blood on his tongue- he  _ hates  _ confessions; he was only able to ask out Christine because everyone and their mother were pressuring him to. Still, he knows he won’t be rejected.

Michael doesn’t say anything for a long minute. “...You’re not fucking with me, are you?” he asks eventually.

“Of course I’m not fucking with you,” Jeremy answers. “I may have been a dick, but I’m not straight-up evil. I mean, I like Christine too, but I could be down with it.”

“So, if I kissed you right now, you wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah, man. Hit me.”

And Michael does. The table is small enough for him to lean over, and Jeremy closes the gap (and his eyes) with little hesitancy. It’s only his second kiss sans SQUIP, so it’s awkward as hell, and it probably isn’t that great for either for them, but it’s the start of something great.

“Again?”

“Again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! I love you!!!  
> if you guys are interested in sending me prompts, you can find them here:   
> https://thecicadasong.tumblr.com/post/181189682532/drabble-prompts (dialogue)  
> https://thecicadasong.tumblr.com/post/181866332847/send-me-a-word-and-a-characterseriespairing-and (words)  
> And on that note, feel free to hang out with me on Tumblr! I'd love to hear from you all.


End file.
